Just another mess
by Transfigurator
Summary: Another mess is about to start. Someone drags trouble with him for half across the world. There will be blood, fire and pile of corpses by the end of the day. Meh, pretty standard for Roanapur. My first BL story with heavy focus on OCs. Rated M for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**Foreward.**

 **This is my attempt at writing Black Lagoon fic. Or at writing anything actually. I apologize in advance to any fans for my lack of skills, but I need to learn _somewhere_. **

**From the technical part, this story will feature quite a lot of OC's and have a strong focus on them. I'll do my best to give justice to canon characters (once they appear) but I'm open to advice. I noticed I can point flaws in other's works but I lack perspective in my own.**

 **Characters here often spoke differing languages, and to adress it, while everything is written in english the dialogues spoken with languages different than ACTUAL english or japanese or whatever language they speak in Roanapur in canon, will be underlined**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Black Lagoon and any other franchiese that may be referenced.**

 **(^3^)**

 **/|||||\**

 **Prologue**

Do you know this feeling where you wish for a sleep, because reality is just too grim, too horrible to deal with and yet when it comes, you jolt awake in horror because of nightmares that come with it?

Trapped between terrors of dreams and reality, with solace in neither, what can you do to fend of creeping madness born from pain and helplessness?

You need a focus. Something to shift all you awarness to. Running towards a goal singlemindedly until old scars stop hurting and pain of the past is buried under new memories. But it takes time - for some shorter, for others longer. But what if you run out of that time? If your focus, your goal is takan away before you could heal and you run back into cold reality with your wounds half opened?

There is only so much lemonade one can drink. So when life insists on giving you lemons still, you don't force yourself to make more lemanade anyway. You take those damn yellow shits, and shove tham back life's ass and then burn its house!

And boy, he was knee deep in lemons and stacked on napalm...

* * *

 **"** What do you mean, they disappeared!? **"** \- Well dressed, middle aged man was shouting into the reciever, while sweating bullets. His white, freshly starched shirt suddenly felt to constricting. Forcing himself to sound calm he spoke again, this time with much more leveled tone. **"** Keep looking. Use dogs or something... **"** He suggested before sighting and disconnecting. He leaned back into his leather armchair and nervoulsy tapped his finger on his desk for a few seconds. He was Minister for barely a month, and shit was already flying his way. He started to wonder if this was such a good idea after all... He picked up the phone again and dialed international number. He hestitated a moment before confirming the connection. He didn't wanted to make that call, especially with bad news.

 **"** This better be important. I'm busy. **"** Growled unfriendly voice on the other side. It was shaping to be a great conversation wasn't it?

 **"** Oh it is. **"** The Minister answered and instantly cut to the chaice. **"** We have a problem. Few of those Łysa Góra lunatics, have disappeared along with equipement and we can't trace them. **"** Minister tried to even his voice, but a tremble slipped anyway. What he heard in return, didn't helped to calm his nerves.

 **"** Oh no... YOU have a problem. **"** Was the indifferent answer. Minister could almost see how the man on the other side shrugs his arms. **"** I'm retired, you have my position now. That was the deal. **"**

Now it was Minister's turn to growl into reciever. **"** You left me with the fallout that may ruin my carrier at best, and piss off foreign forces at worst! It was your idea in the first place! You pretty much let them loose! If they rise hell and the witch hunt for the guy responsible starts, I'm pointing finger at you! **"** He was shouting with abandon now, forgeting that his secretary may hear him just behind the doors.

The voice on the other side sounded calm, but now there was a frightening chill carried within. **"** Remember, that you may be important figure now, but I still have resources and connections to bring you down faster than any "witch hunt" ever could. You will be put on trial for embezzlement, incarcerated and you may even... Commit suicide out of shame... It happened before, right? It was a smaller fish, but the principle stays the same... **"**

Minister froze. The old bastard wasn't even trying to hide the threat. He barely heard the words that followed.

 **"** You have a mess to clean. It comes with the territory. If you could think just a bit further ahead, you wouldn't be in this positon now. Unless it REALLY threatens us both, you're on your own. **"** There was a click and the call ended from the other side.

Minister slowly put the reciever down. Covered in cold sweat, he put his elbows on the desk, hid his face in palms and said only **"** Kurwa **"**.

* * *

Night patrols could be pleasant. Riding through the city's nightlife had a certain charm to it even if you are on duty to stop half of the fun. Patroling the forest road in the middle of nowhere, where you have a bigger chance to meet boar than a human was the opposite of fun. It was boring, mind numbing and a little bit of creepy. Also it felt pointless. At this hour, only occasional semi-trucks were passing this road and even that only on certain seasons. Tonight, there were none. On the plus side, the air was pleasant. Night was warm so Adam could open a window and let some wind in. Otherwise he would probably suffocate, what with Władek chainsmoking next to him. He gave his partner a nudge.

 **"** What? **"** Władek looked at Adam with an irritated expression, fidgeting slightly in his passenger sit to get more comfortable.

 **"** You were about to fall asleep. **"** The driver answered. **"** As much as it would be entertaining to watch a burning cig falling from you mouth straight onto your dick, it's not worth the trouble that would follow. **"**

Władek snorted. **"** It's not like we have much to focus on. Wanna play some car games? A few rounds of 'I spy...' **"** He asked sarcastically.

Adam only sighted and suppresed the impulse to cough. Tobacco smoke scratching at the back of his throat. He almost didn't noticed a faint sound, rapidly raising in volume. Turning to his partner he asked "You hear that?" But Władek was already glancing into rear mirror. They were on a sharp curve, but from behind a wall of trees, Adam could see the brightness and the sound he heard was become recognizable as a song. A car with radio playing was approaching. Fast

 _Lay awake  
I don't give a shit  
If I even ever wake up in the morning  
Down below  
There's a pile of sin  
Always waiting for a  
Waiting for a warning _

He could notice the other signs as well. Scared birds were taking flight, adding their own voice to the noise. The music was getting louder. Almost to ear rupturing levels.

 _Burned at the stake  
Inside I'm blistering  
Not a whisper  
Looking in you'd never know it  
Miles below  
I look up again  
When you snap they say  
Before you never show it _

And like some gray-green wraith of of speed and sound, a blur blasted past them in a cacophony of music, roaring engine and terrified animals.

 _Someone said it's all right  
Save it now, don't say it for my sake  
Someone said it's all right  
Faster now, you know I got no brakes (no brakes) _

Almost without thinking, Adam turned on the siren and gave chase. Predictibly, the vehicle in front ignored them. Now that he had headlights on the target, he could recognize a tarp covered form of what appeared to be military truck. For a moment he wondered if he wanted to chase it. It somehow felt surreal for him. If this was a horror movie, it would turn out the truck is carrying some virus or a mutant bioweapon that would maul them as soon as they try to check. Or even the driver turns out to be some headless zombie or a serial killer with a fire axe or some shit. The atmosphere wasn't helping. No lights aside from car reflectors, walls of trees on left and right and a flocks of terrified birds screaming above. Yeah... Pretty much horror setting. He was shaken out of his reverie by Władek's voice.

 **"** Sooo... **"** He drawled. **"** We hand him a ticket for speding in the middle of nowhere or for noise disturbance? **"** He asked before adding **"** In the middle of nowhere? **"**

Adam snorted. That was indeed kind of stupid. After all, the road was virtually empty and they were miles away from any settlement. The speed limits were already pretty lax here and there wasn't anyone who would be disturbed by noise, unless the local wildlife wanted to fill in some complaints. He didn't voiced it out loud however. Pointless or not, those were the rules they should stick to. Small breach here, small breach there and slippery slope to corruption may suddenly blindside them. Instead he chose a safe answer. **"** We pull him over for routine check. May turn out he's drunk and we can arrest him for that. But first we need to catch him. **"**

 _Fuses glow  
Wounds festering  
Till the wind comes up  
And takes it to the last pow  
Back and forth  
Staring at the wall  
This room's a cage  
I know that something's got to give now _

Indeed. Despite pressing pedal to the metal, the truck was not only keeping the distance, but was actualy increasing it at steady pace. Władek voiced his toughts for him.

 **"** Must be pimped out. This model shouldn't have this much power under the hood. **"**

 _Lay awake  
I don't give a shit  
If I even ever wake up in the morning  
Down below  
There's a pile of sin  
Always waiting for a  
Waiting for a warning  
_

 _Someone said it's all right  
Save it now, don't say it for my sake  
Someone said it's all right  
Faster now, you know I got no brakes (no brakes)_

 _No brakes_  
 _No brakes_

The chase continued fruitlessly made worse by the choice of song, that was almost moking their efforts. However as the last tones gone silent, Adam noticed a break lights flashing at the back of the truck. The vehicle was slowing down as if the insanely loud music was it's actual power source that finally run out. At last, the truck stopped completly.

 **"** Watch out. **"** Władek said lighting another cig. **"** Something stinks here. **"**

Adam nodded before exiting the car. Władek soon followed him. He was was cautious in approaching the drivers side. Hand unconsciously gravitating towards his gun. However as he leaned towards the window, his mind froze in tracks trying to comprehend what he looked at - because the face that was _leering_ at him from driver's sit could not belong to a human.

The face was white. Not in the causcasian type white. Not even albino white. Nooo... It was fucking white as a sheet. Likewise white hair were laying flat atop the head, as if they were wet. Black eyes had dark circles around them, as if their owner hadn't slept for days... Or was already dead. But what chilled Adam the most, where driver's mouth. Behind chapped lips, streched in mocking smile, he could see rows of triangular, sharp teeth, that would be much more at home in pirhana's jaws.

It was a mere second or two before he got his bearings. A second or two to long. Chalk white hands that were once gripping the wheel, suddenly found themselves at his hair and collar of his uniform. Soon he was pulled through the window, with his hands stuck outside, unable to manouver them through narrow space that was now filled with his shoulders. And the ghastly hands were no longer pulling him in, but were now squeezing around his neck. Long, sharp, black nails were digging into his skin as the thumbs pressed at his arteries. He tried to pull himself away bracing with legs to get away from the window he was stuck in, but the seemingly dainty fingers were holding him like industrial clamps. Animalistic terror caused him trash in the confined space, as consciousnes began to fade. His paniced mind managed to question, what was his partner doing. He should already pull him out or attack the driver from the other side. Where the hell was he?

To be fair, Władek indeed moved almost as soon as Adam was attacked. However he was stopped by a rustling sound behind. Actually that was a proof to his good hearing since the source of the sound was at the other side of the road. Sadly for him, it proved to be less helpful than it could. He turned just in time to see some dark shape rushing at him from the trees and crossing the wide street in a heartbeat, before he was slugged in the head and send to la la land.

Soon after, Adam's struggles ceased and he was unceremoniously pushed out of the car window and crumpled down like a wet noodle. Unconscious but alive.

Only then the truck's door opened and driver stepped out, revealing to be a woman (or at least a female) judging from slight bulges in chest area. Decked in pristine white racer suit, she was stark conrast against the black background of trees. Slender build and a high of almost six feet, made her look a bit frail and scrawny. The cop lying at her feet would disagree about the frail part.

She was not only contrasting the surroundings. She was also an antithesis of the figure before her. A man, standing even taller than her by about a foot, and more muscular, clad in pitch black jacket and pants as well as boots. Even his face was smudged with black camouflage paint, masking his features, aside from amber ayes that almost glowed wolfishly.

The man spoke with audiable annoyance.

 **"** What part of 'discreet' I was unclear about, when I asked you to meet me? **"**

For a briefet moment, the ghastly woman looked apologetic... And then she answered...

 **"** I swear I was quiet. And focused and I was very happy to see you again, but the road was long and then I run over a unicorn and then Saint Christopher took shotgun seat and told me to not hit more unicorns because they are endangered species and if I drive them to extinction, no pun intended, the little children won't be able to ride them anymore and that made me sad because every child deserves a unicorn but then Saint Christopher told me to cheer up and asked to play some kick ass music so I tuned to some Offspring but then I noticed I'm late so I pushed pedal to the metal and I got here just as music ended but then the rude guys in a noisy car bothered me and I have to defend because who would chase a woman in a dark forest if not some pervert and then you showed up so here we are! **"**

It was amazing that she did it all on a single breath. The man was not impressed. Or amused. Instead he asked incredously. **"** Are you on drugs? **"**

Woman's head moved to the side and a slight trail of drool trickled out of the corner of her mouth, before she drawled **"** Maaaayybeee... **"**

The tall man sighted with exasperation **"** Ja pierdolę Strzyga, you were supposed to come clean. **"**

He rubbed his eyes in powerless frustration.

Małgorzata Olchowska, better known as Strzyga (or Striga as most foreign langage speakers prefered), was one of his most trusted friends and till just a few months ago a sister-in-arms. She had problems. A whole pile of issues. To be fair, all of them had.

Hers started on the second year of college. She was very intelligent, with uncannily sharp mind and a memory that seemed to last forever. She absorbed knowledge like a sponge, learning skills at astounding speed. She could have try for any job, any direction and she would have succeed in life, but wanted to take it slow, not commiting herself to single option. Sadly, her control freak of a boyfriend couldn't stand that.  
They quite often butted heads about her future career, but she was strong willed and stubborn as a mule and it's not like he could force her to choose as he pleased, so during one of their fights, he got frustrated and shoved her.  
To be fair, he wasn't malicious, just impulsive idiot but that was enough. She fell backwards, straight onto lab table in chemistry class. Glass shards, acids and god knows what other chemicals, caused horrible burns on her back. After months of hospitalization and extensive plastic surgeries, she could return to her studies but... According to other students, some of the light was gone from her eyes. Her back was patched as much as their medicine could, but a gigantic scar remained.

Her experiences with her now ex-boyfriend, made her paranoid about another relationship and once she found someone she felt she can trust, her scarred body scared them away. Intimacy was ruined for her. Self consciousness and feeling of isolation in a crowd pushed her to depression, and that pushed her to drugs. Soon she dropped from college and lost any direction in life.

Ironically, just like her boyfriend intended to, the decision was made for her. The mysterious Łysa Góra took interest in her and she was recruited for her unusal learning talent. And that talent was directed towards military purpose. A waste really, but it gave her focus and pulled her out of the rut. Sort of. The paychecks, he had to admit, were generous. Strzyga used hers to completly reinvent herself. Have you ever seen a talk show where some guy decided he wants to be a lizard and subjected himself to series of surgeries that left him looking like a proud member of a Reptilion race? Strzyga got similiar idea. As soon as she could afford it, she decided to become a "monster they wanted them to be anyway" and subjected herself to plastic and dental make over that left her looking like this and granted her the current nickname, one she was actually proud of.

She certainly lived up to the terror this name was associated with. Not only that, but her unique talent allowed her to become (among other things) an absolute a genious of a driver and that led to her discovering a new passion for herself - speed. No, not the drug (those she tried already), but velocity. Going as fast as possible at breakneck pace with almost childish glee. It helped that she could drive pretty much anything, be it by land, sea or air, like their own version of Ghost Rider. She even looked the "ghost" part if not exactly the Marvel's image.  
He would trust his life in Strzyga's hands without a second tought.  
Their group was a tight knit one and bonds were as strong as family if not stronger. Forged through conflinct and sufering, uniting them by experiences not known to common men.  
It wasn't a mystery that everyone was worried about her drug addiction. The black humor developed, that she wanted to go into Doomrider's footsteps and try every drug known to a man and then discover some unknown ones. Humor was the only defence against creeping, silent fear that their superiors supplied her and actively fed her addiction, because it apparently kept her skills sharper and made her easier to control. He had hoped that now when that supply was cut off, she will come clean... But she actually looked worse than the last time he saw her. She lost more weight than it was healthy and there were traces of malnourishment on her bleached face. The belief that using drugs will make you look like Emperor Palpatine was actually slight misconception. It usually weren't the chemical itself that caused the change. That was was just a catalyst which made addict's priorities shift towards getting a next fix. They would forego eating, hygiene and basic needs to save resources or time for a next dose. There were also homemade and dirty drugs. Yes, _those_ would cause horrible devastation for the organism. And without reliable supply of clean and measured doses... This was what's been happening to Striga. Left without the fix she was hooked up on, she was scraping on her own and was falling apart twice as fast as a result.

In his personal opinion, she would be quite a pretty young woman, despite scars and modifications she subjected herself to... If she just stopped on that path. But she would need help and support for that. Neither of which he could afford right now. Lost in his musings, he almost missed her response.

 **"** But I won't be able to see Saint Christopher! **"** She actually whined like a petulent child. **"** How am I supposed to drive without his occasional advice? **"**

 **"** Just... Just give me lift. **"** The man answered tiredly. **"** You have everything I asked for? **"**

At that Strzyga perked up. **"** Yup! Everything and more is in the back. **"** She exclaimed, patting the tarp.

 **"** Good. **"** He answered, while picking up Władek and putting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. **"** Now help me put those two in their car. I don't want them to be turned into a paste in case some sleepy driver in his semi won't notice them on the road. **"**

 **"** Why would you care about some pervs? **"** Strzyga pouted, nontheless putting Adam on her back in fireman's hold.

 **"** They are cops. **"** He said in a dry tone. **"** You probably broken half a dozen traffic laws, so they pulled you over. **"**

There was a moment of silence followed by short embarassed **"** Oh... **"** from the white woman.

With the cops safely tucked back in their car, black and white pair turned back to the truck. Striga rised a hand in a stopping gesture, before peering through the window. Than she smiled at her partner. **"** All right. St Christopher went back to haven, so you can take the shotgun. **"**

Black clothed man rolled his eyes before squeezing in the passanger sit. Striga gripped the wheel with almost audiable relief, like someone who resurfeced after being held underwater. **"** Where to? **"** She asked simply.

 **"** Get me to Slovakia. Unnoticed. **"** The man answere grimly.

Change on Striga's face was so fast and drastic, it looked more like switching masks than natural mood shift. Gone were the childlike smiles, pouts or mischivious leers, replaced by demure expression as her eyes, usually slightly unfocused from whatever she was currently doped with, hardened in a way that few would recognize as a gaze of a soldier... Or a killer. **"** So... It begins... **"** She stated.

 **"** No... **"** The man wispered, while clenching his hand into fist. **"** It _ends._ **"**

The truck moved again, leaving an ominous atmosphere hanging in the air.

* * *

When people don't have much, they will kling to everything they _do_ possess. Even trash can become valuable if that's all you can claim as your own. For a group of homeless, an old abandoned fish factory was as close to a home as they could get. Roanapur was not a friendly place to any one, let alone to those on the bottom and down on luck.

It wasn't important that the place was filled with mold and stench of rotting fish, that remained in the crates for years in hot and humid climate.

The bulding was large enough to host multiple families, sometimes more than one generation, forming pretty much a colony isolated from main city. It gave shelter during bad weather, and a place to stay out of sight of gangs and mafia. Ruined facility with all its filth and stink, held no interest neither for Roanapur's underworld or for a few honest citizens and that allowed the homeless to live in relative peace and safety. Till now.

Accompanied by screams, tears and curses, dozens of dirty and ragged people has been brutally tossed out of their only asylum by a small army of brutal, tattooed thugs. Bums and hobos they may have been, but honed sense of observation, that haleped them keep track of dangers of the city, allowed them to recognize the intruders as outsiders - they weren't one of the local gangs. Unknown variable was dangerous and that was enough to make most vagrants abandon their cots and sleeping bags and evacuate in haste.

Most being the key word, as few particulary stubborn denizens not only refused to leave, but were downright trying to fight the invaders... With predictible results. Aggressors didn't even bothered to use fire arms. Kicks to the ribs and broken bones took the fight out of almost all stragglers. Only few of them, still kept getting up despite the beating.

One particulary resistant man, glared at goons standing above him, as he picked himself from the ground while spitting barely coherent insults. Dressed in rags, with lice in his graying hair and beard, he was one of the older habitants of the factory and despite common sense, he refused to give up even this last safe haven. So he stood up and charged at half a dozen opponents only to be manhandled, arms twisted and brought to his knees, followed by a vicious kick to the face. Now with his mouth bleeding, and on the verge of unconsciousness, he was still getting back up, when he noticed a movement. The thugs surrounding him parted, and a new man stood before him. He was wiry, wearing a colorfoul (and horribly tacky) shirt and ripped jeans as well as a pair of sneakers. On his bald head there was a peculiar tattoo: diamond and triangular shapes, tightly packed next to each other... The snake scales. Tattoo was flowing down his neck, covering his bare arms as well. Two curved knives at his belt were the only weapons visible, but the bearded man still felt a chill down his spine. There was something almost inhuman in him. The way he was looking down at the homeless at his feet was cold and calculating. As if he wasn't seeing a human being, but option, pros and cons. Finally he turned to one of his underlings (with the way they parted for him, he was an obvious leader here).

"What is this?" He asked in a tone that all but suggested unpleasant consequences if he doesn't like the answer.

"He refuses to leave boss. No matter how much we trash him, he just gets up." The thug spat out the words, glancing between the homeless man and his superior.

Said superrior narrowed his eyes before asking "And you didn't just killed him because?"

Goon's behavior changed dramatically. He was all but sweating and looked ready to bolt at the moments notice. "This isn't our turf... We... We didn't want to stack the bodies before we know who we can be against." He stammered.

Bald man's narrowed glance sweeped over the thugs around him, producing very similiar response of fear in each of them. Finaly he sighted and spat. "That's why I hate working with newbies." Finally his gaze once again focused on the troublesome hobo. This time he asked without taking the eyes of him. "Are there any others who cause you trouble."

"There are a few, too stuborn or too drunk to leave, but we mostly cleared the place" answered different subordinate, getting an affirming nod from his leader.

"Gather them all then." Came the order from scaled man. "We could use some field testing. I assume the instalations are complete?" He asked and recived multiple confiramtions, whatever that meant. Then he smiled.

It was the scariest thing the homeless man had ever seen. Human mouth should not stretch _that_ wide. "Well..." He said, still with that horryfying smile. "The head honcho send us one of his personal staff. Let's check if the good doctor is worth his money."

After that he turned and left, and his underlings followed, dragging the cursing, bleeding vagrant deeper into the factory...

 **Afterword**

 **Well that would be all for now. I would like to complete this story as it's not an ambitious project, only two or three chapters long at most, but I can't promise updates and they depend solely only on my skill to churn them out, so don't hold your breath.**

 **I'll gladly take some advice if anyone is willing as it may help me in the future projects if there will be any. You may also drop hints about formatting if this one is unclear or hard to read.**

 **I thank anyone who bothered to read this at all and double thanks if you can spare some hints for me.**

 **For now I guess C ya to everyone.**


	2. Chapter 2

**More than half a year later, I finally churned out a second chapter of unimpressive lengh. As you probably already noticed, my writing skills are subpar, so I apologize to all Black Lagoon fans as well as people with common sense, since I probably violated that as well. T_T**

 **Finally, autocorrect may have backstabbed me again, so I apologize for spelling mistakes I may have missed. (That or I'm just getting old and blind)**

 **I do not own Black Lagoon or any other recognizable franchiese that I may use.**

 **(^3^)**

 **/|||||\**

"You summoned me Capitan?"

"Ah, yes Sergeant." Was Balalaika's short reply as she ignited a cigar. "What do you think about our newcomers?"

"We did not carry out a deep recon yet, but first-contact info confirms that they are not from here, though their tattoos and insignia seem familiar."

"That they do." Russian woman confirmed, shaking an ash from her cigar. "They are the Gorgon's Head."

Sergeant Boris held back unproffesional snort of disdain at the mention of the gang's name, instead opting for rather obvious statement.

"Quite far from their stomping grounds in Bangkok, Capitan. Should we engage them?"

Almost unnoticbly, a corner of Balalaika's mouth twitched in subdued smile at the tought of conflict, but was soon replaced by ponderous expression. "I'm hestitating." She admitted finally, to Boris' surprise. Not that he showed it, mind you. "They are shown to be too undisciplined to be bussiness partners, but with how fortified their presence was in capital, crushing them and taking over like we did in Tokyo, would cost us too many soldiers for too little gain..." She mused while reclining deeper into her chair. "And now, they are on our turf doing as they please dismissing the balance of power and any rules we actually have for this place. They are pretty much asking to be annihilated."

Boris stood at attention. He needn't to ask for clarification. He trusted that Capitan will explain if she'll deem it necessary and he was proven right as his superior elaborated and he silently adimtted he had similiar toughts on the matter.

"But this is not their style. Gorgon's Head do not expand with leaps. They slowly crawl and spread out of Bangkok, fortifying their positions before taking another step. It should be generations before they felt secure enough to get even close to Roanapur." She concluded, while giving Boris a pointed stare, prompting him for his opinion.

Sergeant obliged without delay. "You suspect that someone pushed their hand, or at least convinced them to go out of their way that they stick to for decades."

Balalaika nodded. "Someone managed to herd cats and that itself makes me curious. I would like to meet the one who's truly behind this operation, before we decide wheter to wipe them as the stain they are. We may actually squeeze some profit out of this yet."

"Orders Capitan?"

"Keep tabs on them from distance. Do not engage as long as they stay away from our operations and refrain from sending spies deeper just yet. The snakes are paranoid and would likely sacrifice some of their own just to capture an infiltrator and I won't lose my men for such pointless and stupid reason. Especially if they were to capture them _alive_..." Balalaika finished, narrowing her eyes. Implication was clear. No one would wan't to get apprehanded by this type of enemy.

Boris nodded curtly, saluted and left his commander's office to issue orders.

Left alone, Balaika felt nagging sensation at the back of her head. Some unease she couldn't identify as if she made a bad call. Yet she couldn't find mistake in the course of action she took. Startegically every step seemed sound, so why...

Frustrated, she pulled out another cigar.

...

The noise permeating the Yellow Flag's interior, barely drowned the sound of glass slamming on the counter.

Bao _almost_ voiced a complain, about not having enough spares for Revy to break, but judging from bags under gunslingers eyes and and a mood a few notches worse than usually, he kept his moth shut.

Meanwhile, woman in question was pouring herself, another glass of rum, while her companion, imacculately dressed in black slacks, and white shirt with a tie, was consuming his own drink at much more subdued pace.

Frankly, Rock wasn't sure what's this was all about. Revy pretty much scared him out of the bed, and dragged him to bar, grumbling something about sharing misery.

Seeing as the temperamental woman isn't about to explain her actions on her own, he deemed it safe enough to prod her for some clarification.

"So..." Former salary man started between sips. "Mind telling me why you wake me up and drag me to drink?"

At first, Revy only grunted in lieu of response, but that was followed by a more elaborate answer soon enough. "Had a shitty night. Too hot to keep the window closed and as soon as I open it, there some ungodly fuckin stench filling my room. Like someone burning trash or something. Kept me up all night." She finished with another slam of her glass on the counter.

"That explains something. And why am _I_ here?" Rock asked, slowly filling his second glass.

That finaly brought a wicked smile on Revy's face. "You are the best buffer for shitty moods. I can give you half of mine."

"Go figure." Tought Rock, while rolling his eyes.

...

As it turns out, Revy wasn't the only member of Lagoon Company, bothered by the stench. Benny was sitting at his computer with slightly chagrinned expression. He didn't even heard his boss coming near.

"Something on your mind?" Large african-american, asked his bespectacled teammate.

Benny was starled for a second by Dutch's sudden - from his perspective - appearance, but got his bearings fast enough to answer. "Just some uneasiness. I don't know..." He shrugged. "It's just that, after that fish factory became active, I just got a bad feeling for some reason. Probably nothing tough. I'll be fine soon."

Dutch "hmmed" with his arms folded on his chest. "Well, this _is_ Roanapur. Hardly anything here goes by, without giving someone a bad vibe. From the better news, we may have a job soon."

That picked Benny's interest and apparently chased his worries away. "Any more details? What kind and how soon?"

"Supposedly something simple. We just take someone from Bangkok and bring them here. Safely. They're still polishing details on their end, but it should be few days from now."

"Huh. Good to know" Benny commented. "Sounds easy enough. We could use some easy money, without being shot at, and chased around by assasins and super maids..."

That got a chuckle out of Dutch. "Revy's never gonna let that one down." He muttered with half a smile.

...

Steven's day started great. Never the one with lots of money, he experienced a smile of fortune when Alojz, his penpal from Slovakia, invited him for a vacation.

It was curious kind of a deal. Alojz explained that small hotell bussines he was working at, was branching out and as a promotional event, they allow foreign turists to stay for a few days at some of their hostels and motels. All expences paid. Guests are supposed to get a taste of service and advertise it in their social circles once they return.

That, Steven admited, sounded a bit complicated and weird but still legit. Turned out he wasn't the only one. He was part of the group of men and woman, that Alojz was responsible for. And boy he wasn't disappointed. For the last few days, Alojz managed to use his position and contacts in company, to slip in few "extras" just for him as his pal. An intimate services that wasn't exactly in the standard offer. And today he was promised something even better, but for that, they needed to sneak for different motel. Somewhere more private. In the evening it was supposed to get... Loud.

Oh, it was loud. Just not the kind that he would excpect. And neither did Alojz apparently.

Steven was currently pressing himself against the wall of a small motel room. A space made even smaller, by a fucking truck, that just a minute ago, smashed through the cheap drywall and parked half way in their room, with the front of it blocking the door. While Steven's first response was to try and hide in the corner, Alojz immidietly bolted for the narrow hole between the side of the truck and the smashed wall. His attempt was stopped dead, when the passanger door swung open and hit him square in the face. That followed by a huge, black clad guy, with black smudged face, getting out of the car. Steven never know that the concept of shitting bricks can feel so literal, until he saw the guy grabbing his slovakian pal by the collar and the belt, lifting him above the head, and tossing him across the room like a rag doll.

And then the black monster looked at him. If not for the fact that brick is so hard to pass through the colon, Steven would have a wall in his pants right this moment.

And then it got weird, when the tall freak spoke.

"Get the fuck out of here and in about half an hour, call the cops. I probably just saved you skin."

It took a while for his shell shocked brain to understand he isn't about to die horribly, but it was the sight of a ghost looking woman, get out of driver's side of the car... With a shotgun. While humming Ievan Polkka – To get his body to move and get the hell out of here. He heard the man say something to his female accomplice in a foreign language, that seemed familiar, but he couldn't discern sense. He managed to get quite a way, before he heard shots. It was long after he got to the hotel he was originally staying at, that he realized... He left Alojz behind.

...

"You want me to keep an eye for who?" Eda rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration, with her other hand gripping a phone. "Is that official? If this is under the table, that shit better don't end up on my lawn. I have enough local freaks to deal with and keep this shit running. I'm not about to catch someone else's strays." The blond nun/arms trader/undercover CIA agent huffed in annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You just informing every cell about a bunch of mad dogs running wild, because their masters fucked up. But why do _we_ have to clean up this mess? Guys like those are dime a dozen. Cut off and left to drift. They even become quite useful for us as mercs..." Due to shades resting on Eda's nose, no one would notice her eyes widening slightly at what she heard in reciever. " _This_ unit? Fuck, you remeber how this place got riled up when Cisneros showed up? I can't guarantee shit if any one of them comes knocking. Consider yourselves warned. This may be too much to handle for this powder keg and I'm not gonna wait for it to blow."

Her annoyed tirade spent for a moment, Eda forced herself to listen to the man on the other side, before sighting.

"Fine. That much I can do. No. I can't think of any reason they might come here for, so that may be a good thing. Yes, besides that, things are holding up. Is that all? Great."

Finally she put the receiver down. Damn, she needed a drink.

...

The quiet chime of a bell above the door, announced arrival of another patron in the cafe.

Averege looking man, casually dressed in jeans and a fake skin jacket, looked around for a moment, before spotting his apparent destination – a table near the window, with three more people already sitted.

"You're late." One of the men said. He was visibly the oldest, with a bald spot at the top of his head. His tone carried no accusation. Merely stating the obvious. "Anyway, we took the liberty of placing a cake order for you."

That caused the newcomer to chuckle and mutter thanks as he sat down. He scratched his light brown hair as if embarassed a bit, before speaking. "Heh, funny story. Someone attempted to mug me on the way here."

"Where's the funny part?" Asked another of the gathered men, pushing his glasses up his nose, as they kept on slipping, whenever he leaned down to take a bite out of his own dessert. He really needed a better fitting ones.

"Well..." The man in fake skin jacked started with a smile. "He tried to terrorize me with a gas pistol... While standing upwind." He finished with a full blown grin now on his face.

This induced a varying reactions from his companions. From chuckles, to groan to a facepalm.

"I had to call the ambulance, once he ended up blinded on the ground, as well as a patrol, since I don't carry cuffs around when I'm off duty." He finished with a shrug.

"Hey, they could come in handy. You never know what you'll need in bedroom." Chuckled the last man at the table. This one, easly identified by his Van Dyke facial hair.

This cause the late man to rise an eyebrow. "Excuse me, I don't believe we've been acquaintanced."

"Oh, right sorry. I'm Filip." The bearded man said extendaing a hand. "Ivan here" he said motioning towards the balding man with his head "invited me to your... How did he called it? Old wife gossip circle." He explained with a smirk.

"Oldrich." Answered the man in fake skin "Nice to meet you."

"Well." Said Ivan. "Since we're all here, we can start I guess. Pavol, wanna go first?" He turned towards a bespectacled man, who was currently engrossed in his phone.

"Hey, Pavol!" Ivan repeated, snapping fingers in front of his collegue's face. That seemed to get his attention.

"Oh, sorry. I needed to check messages. Going first, huh? Actually I think I'll go last. I have some serious shit." He said with a mysterious smile.

"But maybe Filip will give it a try. Oldrich more or less already shared something, so you should get the idea." The last words he spoke directly to the bearded man.

Ivan likewise, gazed at the newest member of the group. "So? Wanna give it a go?"

"Sure, why not." Answered the man. "So... One of the funnier or more curious cases I've had or at least witnessed, yes? Let me think... How about this" he started "One time we got a bizzare call about a dead woman. Apparently, she was, I quote 'suffocated by her ex-boyfriend's boa constricter.' Well, we arrive on the scene and find the victim dead, surrounded by sleeping pills and and alcohol. Later, the coroner confirmed that there was no signs of damage on strangulation or any form of preassure on the neck. However he also confirmed that she didn't died from overdose... But from smoke inhalation."

"Ok, that's interesting, but where is the snake involved" Oldrich interrupted.

"I'm getting to it, patience" Filip chuckled. "So, we're questioning the neighbours and even found the ex-boyfriend. He confirmed, that she tossed him and all his things out, and that he indeed had a pet boa constricter, but it went missing. We eventually got to the woman that called. Apparently her son had seen the victim as she was struggling with snake on her shoulders, and he run right to tell her. But by the time she got outside, the woman was already gone. She got curious and knocked at the door, but no one answered. Then she looked through the window and saw the victim unmoving. She panicked and called us. Now we're getting to the most absurd part." He said.

"We questioned other naighbour, but they knew even less. Until one person gave us an interesting detail. When he was walking a dog, his dog started barking and that got his attention towards the house. He was sure that he had seen a large snake near the side of the house, but a moment later it was gone. He wasn't sure what type of snak that was or if it was venomous so he walked away fast. We checked the area he mentioned and found a hole. Upon inspection it turned up it connects with ventilation system. We pretty much dismantled the whole wall and we finally found the snake. He was looking for a warm place, and clogged the small chimney. Smoke had nowhere to go, and as our victim was knocked out by pills and alcohol, she choked to death carbon oxide. This must be the first human that a snake choked by proxy." Filip finished with alsmost disbelieving shake of his head.

"I'm at lack of words." Deadpanned Ivan.

"I know I should not laugh at someone's death" Oldrich admitted, "but this is hilarious in a most bullshit way possible."

"Ok, I can't top that." Laughed Ivan. "But I got a funny one. So imagine that. Two wanna be gangsters, tried to force a guy to pay extrotion money, by repeatedly demolishing his shop. But he stayed stubborn and just kept calling us after every visit. The problem was, they dropped irregularily, so the stake outs turned out ineffective. Problem solved itself in most hilarious way. Those two finally got fed with obstinate shopkeeper, and decided to punish him in classic italian style. Concrete shoes and and all that. However when they arrived at the river, and tried to drag him out of the van, the huge block of concrete fell on one of those morons foot. They panicked, got back into a car and run... Straight to the public hospital. Our would-be victim was left forgotten on the road. He managed to wriggle the phone out of his pocked, and gave us a call. From then it was easy to call hospitals and locate people with fitting injuries, find the thugs and put them behind bars."

That got chuckles around the table, that only got more intense, when Oldrich rised a fork with a piece of cake as if in toast and commented "For the never ending stupidity of mankind."

"Ok... So it's my turn now." Stated Pavol. "Oldrich, finish that cake. You may lose apetite once I'm done."

This if nothing else, got full attention from his collegues (and made Oldrich gulp his dessert in the next two seconds).

"So" Pavol started "the truth is, I shouldn't be actually atlking about this, since the case is still in progress... But I believe that's something you deserve to hear. Few days ago, a panicked tourist contacted us, claiming that he and his friend had been assaulted in remote hostel, by a pair of unknown culprits. Tall man and a woman presumably, dressed respectively in black and white. Additionally, man had his face covered in some black paint while the woman must have had some Haloween make-up. They crashed through the wall in his room with some truck. Green if he remembers correctly, and the male almost immidietly attacked his friend Alojz. Our witness managed to escape, or rather as he claims, he was allowed to escape, but in panic, he left his friend behind."

"This is starting to sound weird. Even by my standards." Filip interjected, reciveing sagely nod from Ivan.

"Oh, it's weirder." Pavol assured, before returning back to his relation. "When we came to investigate the scene, there was indeed a huge hole leading to one of the rooms, as well as tire marks. And that was the least fucked up of what we found. Whole place looked like a Hellraiser scene. We've found over thirty bodies, with wounds ranging from gunshots and various lacerations, to someone having pieces of glass shoved down their throat."

The table was silent, aside from Oldrich muttering "That's sick." under his nose, so the bespectacled man resumed the story.

"After checking the rooms, we noticed a pattern. Some of the deceased, were immobilized. Tied or cuffed to furniture. They bore the most exotic wounds out of the victimis of massacre, like teeth pulled out and grotesque mutilations. Later, out pathologist confirmed that many of those wounds have been inflicted long before their demise. They have been _tortured to death_. Some of them bearing marks of sexual assault as well. In comparision, the rest of the deceased, died from quick and violent assault. Mostly gunshots of various caliber and some bladed tools. We believe some of the tools used for torture were also used on them, but with clear anger and lethal intent."

"If you want my opinion." Oldrich interjected again. "It sounds as if half of the victims was slowly murdered by other half of the victims. And then killers themselves has been wiped out, probably by a pair mentioned by the tourist."

"That's the theory we leaned towards as well." Agreed Pavol. "But one element doesn't fit, you see. We found a survivor. The tourist indetified him as Alojz. His friend that was left behind. However he was tied half naked to the bed and unresponsive, bearing widely spread marks of torture. We quickly got him to hospital which probably saved his life. Doctors identified some of the wounds on his extremities as severe frostbites, caused most likely be liquid nitrogen. However more life threating turned out to be high toxicity in his organism. He was literally pumped with various drugs that we can't even recognize. It may have been a home made mix, or he was randomly injected with whatever was at hand. Some of the identified substances are known to cause halucinations. Others caused his tissues to decay rapidly. The most distinctive however, is the wound on his left arm. There is whole chunk of flesh torn out and the wound carries unmistakeable marks of human bitemarks. Someone apparently _ate_ a piece of him. And not even in Hannibal style - just whole pieces of meat torn away with teeth."  


"That's..." Filip stammered. "That's fucked up."

"You're telling me?" Pavol asked sarcastically. "And it just complicates matters. Judging by the time frame of his wounds, he would have to be tortured by the same attackers who presumably killed other torturers. An unexplained change in MO. The message I recieved recently was the latest update on his state. He is fading in and out of consciousnes, but he managed to mumble the words "cirnu bogu", whatever that means. That's all we have for now." Pavol finished, leaving his friends with dismayed looks on their faces.

Only Filip had contemplative expression. "Chernobog." He said finally. That earned him confused looks from the remaining table occupants.

"'Cirnu bogu' is the oldest or maybe in case of this patient deformed pronouncement of Chernobog."

The bearded man clarified.

That seemed to spark some recognition from Ivan. "You mean that giant devil-like thing from old Disney movie?"

"More or less." Was the answer. "The name for the movie was borrowed from sketchy folks tales. There is very little actually known about Chernobog, which makes him or it so easy for convinient interpretation. Most common traits of his ware association with winter, death and decay. He was most commonly believed to be evil or at least malevolent deity."

Upon recieving questiong looks, Filip simply shrugged. "I liked to read various myths when I was younger."

"Alojz had frostbites and drugs that caused tissue decay in his system." Reminded Pavol. "And if his assilant really was that black dressed man, our victim either subconsciously associated it with and old folk tale, or the culprit tried to convey certain image."

"You think this may be some pagan cult?" Oldrich throw in his two cents. "This whole torture and mass murder starts to look more and more ritualistic."

"At this point we can't rule out anything yet." Pavol sighted. "We will have to check this angle as well."

For a moment there was silence around the table, with Ivan eventually breaking it with a comment "Well... Today's get together turned out to be surprisingly grim. I suggest we get a round of beer and we wrap this up."

A few minutes later, the cold beverage realxed the atmosphere somewhat. But an unaswered question still remained in the back of for men heads – Will there be more?

...

Dutch scowled after putting down the reciever. Their prospective employer had just moved the date of their planned meeting. Apparently something that requires his attention will hold him in Bangkok a little longer. But the vague time frame, left Dutch with a dilemma. Could they afford to wait for the fickle man to finally make his mind, or should they get another job in the meantime, at the risk of missing this opportunity for good. It's not like they run out of clients tough. The Lagoon Company had a high renome in criminal world, as well as in most gray bussines areas, so they weren't starved for employment. Still, the safe and easy jobs were getting more scarce this days, and it was nice to get some chash, without risking his precious boat, to be riddled with holes.

Pondering his next course of action he eventually smirked. It was always easier to deal with the trouble if you could drink them away or burden someone else with them. So why not do both?

"I wonder if Eda has something good stashed." He chuckled to himself.

...

"I. Want. Them. Dead."

The man in dark blue bussines suit, stated each word with deceptive calmness, as he poured himself another glass of vodka. He was just a little on the portly side. Not actually overwight, but someone already past his prime that let temselves go a little. It was hard to tell his actual high from his sitting position, but it was average at best. His bald head and a face that showed signs of age, betrayed someone nearing fifty, but was unremarkable otherwise. However his gaze would send chill down peoples spines. There was something cold and hard in his eyes. Certain... Indifference that could be noticed in kids that grown up used to ripping fly's wings or burning ants with magnifying glass.

He raised that stare at the other man in the room, who surprisngly, didn't shudder under it.

Said man was dressed much more casually, in red blouse and gray slacks. He was also slightly younger and leaner, and just a bit taller. Dark brown hair were cut short and a stubble covered his face that could be described as angular and boney. While he didn't appear to be intimidated by unsettling stare of the older man, there was certain attentivness to his posture as he answered.

"I already issued orders Sir. Our people are on the look out. Even our moles in police force are paying special attention to our pest problem. Rest assured, it can't be hard to find someone with such... Unsubtle methods."

"Vel'mi dobre. But just to be on the safe side... I want even the child gangs to have their eyes and ears opened." Answered the bald man. "Bribe them or coerce... I leave it to you. I have some more calls to make, regarding our new branch in Roanapur and I don't wish to be disturbed until the problem is solved. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir." Was the only reply necessary, and the younger man prepared to leave. Just as he was about to close the door, a new command stopped him

"Oh, and one more thing Kola. I want their heads gift wrapped and send here. I forgot to pack any decorations from home."

Thusly named Kola nodded his head. "As you wish Sir." Before shutting the door.

...

 **That's it for now. I don't know how it's for you, but I feel as if I tried to lead the bike down the stairs and just fell down from all of them in a jumbled mess. I trully have no sense for where I should end the chapter. Hopefully I'll be able to move story to Roanapur proper in the next chapter or two and stop with this disjointed skips.**

 **I'll just go supply meself with liquor before I gather the courage to check the comments section. Bye.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Third chapter. Woohoo... And you didn't have to wait half a year for this one. Go me...**

 **Actually, I had to split this chapter in two, so I could manage it a bit better. This is the first half as I have to tweak the second one for a bit. It's mostly OC concentrated, with just a dash of recognizable characters, squeezed between paragraphs. I'm sorry if the plot is moving too slow for your liking and the lack of actual BL characters because of that.**

 **Oh who am I kidding, there is only one person who actually reads this fic XD**

 **(^3^)**

 **/||||||\**

There is a merit to stealth. To be like Batman. Invisible until last moment, delivering crackdown and disappearing without a trace, leaving everyone wondering what happened. That was their preferred method originally.

Or, you can go full Juggernaut route, which simetimes they were pushed to do.

And then there is...

...

Alexej Prochazka dropped the butt of his cigarette on the ground before, stomping it out. He fixed his CZ2000 into defferent position as the belt it was hanging on was starting to chaff his neck. Basically, any movement was a welcome change and much needed distraction after hours of standing guard. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Dominik – his current partner in guard duty, was having similiar problems, fidgeting slightly and trying to find more comfortable position for his own weapon.

That's why, when he heard the distant sound of the engine and soon got a glimpse of light coming towards them through the hidden road in the forest, first and foremost he felt a wave of relief for some change in rutine. Only a second after that a common sense kicked in.

"Hey, are we expecting someone?" He asked his partner.

"Not to my knowledge." Dominik answered already pulling out a radio. "I'll contact Jelen."

...

In a building serving as barracks, in a room filled wth monitors a radio receiever come to life, and Dominik's voice sounded in.

"Diesel, do we have a transport or guests sheduled? Cause someone's coming."

Ladislav "Diesel" Jelen, was the highest ranking officer currently remaining on the grounds. Despite this, no one caled him "Sir" or "Boss", since those were reserved for one person only, but he would prefer if his subordinates maintaned at least some modicum of formalcy when adressing him, and dropped the damn nickname. However his personal preferences went forgoten as his mood switched to high alert, literally from zero to hundred.

"No one's supposed to show up." He answered, looking towards the monitor, corresponding to main gate camera and silently cursing when the angle wouldn't quite catch the incoming vehicle yet.

"The front camera is angled bad. Marcel was supposed to fix that." He forgot to release the speak button when he mumbled how he's gonna skin the idiot, but no one commented on that, before he spoke again.

"Tell me what you see."

"Seems to be a... bike." Domink had to squint his eyes as the singular light that was coming towards them, was conviniently offending his optical nerves. "Makes a hell lotta noice for a bike though... Wait. Shit!"

The vehicle, that barrelled on the driveway and into the light of front gate reflectors, revealed itself to be a bit beaten up, tarp covered green military truck with it's lights off... And a large, high powered torchlight ducttaped in the middle of the hood.

There is a time for checking your facts. Making sure you don't misjudge the situation and do something stupid at unappropriate moment, that will ruin all your future plans.

But when a military car with dented grill, bullet marks, and blood stains covering whole front, droped out in their doorstep just days after they started losing contact with their field agents one after another AND when Kola himself, passed words from the Boss to be on lookout for a pair of interlopers in a _very specific truck_ , even low class, hired goons like Dominik and Alexej knew... It was not that time.

...

"It's those fuckers!"

Ladislav heard and saw Dominik scream his last report, before he dropped the radio and opened fire along with Alexej. On the monitors, Diesel could see how the truck swerved sharply at full speed, ramming side ways at the front gate. Solid, steel construction held strong against heavy metal assault, but Alexej who didn't manage to follow Dominik's footsteps and jump away in time, ended up partially on the other side of the gate.

Do you know how egg cutter works? Alexej does now.

...

Dominik avoided becoming a humanitarian salad ingredient by jumping aside and landing in front of a truck. To his credit, as he layed on his back, he stayed composed enough to aim at the windshield, as the truck got momentarily immobilized by the impact. However before he pulled the trigger, he changed his mind. A pair of parabellum bullets getting intimate with one's brain have that effect on people.

Strzyga holstered her PM-84 back, before looking at her grumpy partner at the rear.

"I told you it's a perfect camouflage." She declared with a shit eating grin.

And then there is, whatever the hell that was.

...

The smell of oil wafted through the air, as Dutch run maintenance of Lagoon. With Benny trying to catch up on sleep he was losing lately, and Rock and Revy somewhere in town, he had a moment of privacy for his baby, and he needed to think. His conversation with Eda, left him with few new questions and uneasy feeling...

 _"Burning bodies?" Dutch asked sipping his drink._

 _"That's the most likely explanation, don't you think?" Eda answered with a question of her own, as she refilled her glass._

 _"In 'Nam people burned so often that stench became unforgetable" Dutch countered. "This stink doesn't resemble it."_

 _Eda grunted in exasperation at even someone like Dutch missing the obvious. "It's a fish factory. They don't have to burn bodies alone. They just dump whatever else they find into incinerator. Rotting fish are plenty and mask smell enough if even you can't recognize it."_

 _Dutch hummed before responding "Fine. Let's go with that. What do you think is the point?"_

 _"That... I'm trying to figure out." Eda edmitted, sounding tired. "The homeless are going missing at much higher rate. Almost as if they were hunted down. The most obvious answer would be organ harvesting but..."_

 _"But bums and hobos aren't known for having their insides in exactly marketable condition right? But maybe they go for quantity. There are bound to be some good organs among that numbers."_

 _Dutch answer cause Eda snort in annoyance. "When you treat organ harvesting like a rapid strip mining, you end up with depleted resource and heaps of merchandise with quick expiration rate. Unless they have a buyer already, they risk all the wares going to waste. It's counter productive to bussines. It makes no sense."_

 _The black man ignited a cigarette and inhaled deeply in thought._

 _"There is always a slave market. Cheap whores and expendable labour force does not require high maintanance."_

 _"That could be..." The CIA nun agreed "But it doesn't explain why so damn many and up in the oven. They would still need to ship someone, but the crematories seems to work ceaselessly lately. Though that can be credited to to Italians and Columbians." She surmised. "They have been making some deals with Snakes recently. Mainly handed over whoever they wanted disposed of, but who exactly pays who in that deal is still murky." Eda huffed, downing another glass._

 _"So, a strange egg landed on our front lawn, but we have no choice but to wait for it to hatch and hope it's not a fucking xenomorph." Dutch summed up while finishing a cig and pouring himself another glass._

 _"Amen to that."_

That still didn't told Dutch about the newcomers themselves. All that meant was that his company should stay on guard. If the... Snakes as Eda called them, are already doing buissness with two of the Big Four in the city, than can mean tremors in current balance. If Ronnie ''The Jaws'' and Columbians intend to use the new player on the field, to gain edge over Russians and Triads, they should be vary to not end up in a crossfire. And they shouldn't dismiss the Snakes agenda either. Their deals with two out of four rulers of Roanapur means they already have a foothold here. Pretty quickly for relatively fresh blood in town. On the other hand, client is a client. If they want something shipped, his baby will be up to the task.

...

Jelen wasted no time to see the outcome of the encounter on the screen. Before the intruder's car even peeled away itself from the metal bars, he was already screaming through all channels. "Everyone to the main gate! Boss wants those kokotov dead! Don't let them escape!" (Slavak: Dicks)  


And soon enough a small stampede run out of barracks, while at the same time, garage door opened and three jeeps emerged, ready to chase the already beaten up and apparently retreating truck. Truck that was rolling away suspiciously slowly.

The gate apparently rattled a bit from being hit, jammed a little as it opened, delaying the gangsters' cars as footsoldiers reached the bars first and immidietly opened fire, riddling the tarp with bullets. Unable to see the target hidden behind tent-like flaps, they made up for it with the sheer amount of lead sent the enemies' way. The hail of gunshots only stopping when the truck did to. And for a few seconds, the only sound and movement came from screeching gate making passage.

The gate finally opened enough for the first car to go through, with a second and third right behind and they did so slowly, as to not run over their own troops. They parted in front of the vehicles like the sea before Moses.

Too bad the Lord wasn't with them.

Just as the lead vehicle passed the gate, three things happened at once (or with about half a second delay between if you're anal retentive). First, the tarp covering of the truck, shook and the flaps moved violently as if hit by a gust of wind from the inside. Roughly at the same time, first jeep and front of the second were obliterated, while two gangsters at the back seat of the second car had their various body parts smashed against windshield of the third one. Lastly, Jelen lost the feed from two cameras at the gate, one turned towards the driveway that was stuck at inconvinient angle (because Marcel was supposed to fix it!) and the other directed at the parking lot behind the gate. Neither was spared from the shrapnel, leaving Ladislav in the dark about the outcome.

Footsoldiers fared no better, as those who weren't instantly pulverized by proximity of the blast, were now laying sprawled and moaning, as if someone animated pieces of tenderized meat and spiced them with chunks of metal and glass.

And all the king's horses and all the king's men, wouldn't be able to put together the body parts that flied all the way from the drive way to the lawn.

Not that they would get the chance.

The distinctive sound of AK – 47 drowned the screams and moans, with a few short series putting an end to a grim spectactle, as the tall man in black tactical gear jumped out of the truck, with russian machine gun still hot in his hands and no visible scratch on his body.

The ballistic shield left in the car on the other hand, would make a curious wall ornament though.

Strzyga soon joined his side with an off hand comment. "The Bearded One will probably chew your ass for that Komar. They don't produce them anymore you know?"

"Life's little sacrifices." He muttered in response, as he reached back in the car and pulled out a large duffel bag and a smaller one for his partner. When it was securely hanging with the strap across his chest, he tossed a short: "Let's go."

Since the gateway was now blocked by the wreckege, there was no way to get around with a car. That meant, they had to cross the path to the main building on foot. However when they got about eight feet from the smoldering piece of junk, a hail of bullets forced them on the ground and crawl for cover. Which they found behind the disfiguret piece of metal that was once a jeep.

"SMGs of varying types." Strzyga quickly informed, somehow able to discern from sound alone. Her companion didn't question how. She simply new and they got used to that.

"Convinient for drive-by shooting. Must be the crew from the last car. Their infantry was packing mostly LMGs." The man murmured in response.

Quick peek from behind their cover confirmed that the last jeep was now standing sideways, and the driver and three passangeres were trying to gun them down from behind it.

"Well..." Black clad man sighted, reaching for the side arm in his hip holster. "Shooting gallery time."

Surprisingly however, he was stopped by his partner.

"Wait." She said unceremoniously reaching to his belt... And taking one of the grenades, pulling the pin almost immidietly.

"Been a while since I had physics class..." She commented while weighing the explosive in her palm "but taking into account the weight, the gravity, the wind, earth movement, solar radiation and prices of lard in China, it should go somewhat like... This." She stated, while tossing the grenade over her shoulder with almost casual flick of hand.

...

"What the hell happened there?!" Jelen's voice was screaming throm the CB radio. Covered by his companion's gunfire, the driver reached inside the jeep and pulled out the microphone. Catching the pause between his superior's frantic shouts, he managed a response.

"Everyone but me and three boys is dead. We got hit by a..."

The black object sailing in gentle ark, against black sky background is not something you can easly spot, especially if you don't actively look for it. Therefore there was no shouts, screams or curses, as little ball of death thrown with downright machine like precision, delivered it's lethal bloom amidst the gangsters huddled behind their vehicle, before even touching the ground. Bastards had literally no idea what hit them.

...

When the sound of explosion reached them, black and white duo stood up, no longer concerned about being shot. Wierd as she was, Strzyga _knew_ her shit.

"Show off." The man half jokingly commented, at which his partner chuckled in response.

"Hey, you don't have a monopoly for blowing things up."

They passed the second ruined jeep, and only when they reached the third one, the young woman moaned in dismay. And as you can guess it had nothing to do with mangled corpses behind it.

"We should have go with your idea." Strzyga bemoened at the sight of shredded tires. "I could really use a car if they have any one else in reserve."

...

Jelen stared blankly at the radio, when the transmission was suddenly lost, before tuning to specific frequency.

"Hornick... Do we have anyone else?" He managed, sounding surprisingly calm. He was probably too shell shocked to freak out.

His answer came as the burly man himself barged into the monitoring room.

"What do you mean by 'anyone else'? What happened? I heard explosions." He asked sounding none too pleased.

Citrad Hornick, while a step lower in command chain than Jelen, was directly responsible for management of troops, as the only one with any military background still remaining around and had annoying habit of actually caring about his grunts, beyond handing paychecks on time.

Jelen's mood wasn't any better and it showed in his voice once she shaken off the stupor. "I've heard them too. As for what the hell happened? I have no vision, no contact and _no idea._ The feed is dead and no one is responding. Hell, even the "Vlci" gave no signs of life"

For a moment Hornick stared grimly at the snowing screens, then focusing on the feed from cameras placed on high poles, each in the corner of the rectangular fence surrounding the estate. Two of them were covering the front lawn and parking lot of the mansion – an imposing, three story building befitting Bruce Wayne - and two more granted vision of the backyard. Eventually he asked: "Can you angle the front cameras towards the gate?"

"They don't go that far" \- Diesel responded, slowly regaining composure and tapping on the console – "But I'll see if we get something"

Second later, the scene shown on screens started moving, until...

The image failed to reach the gate, just as Jelen predicted, but it managed to show two people standing next to damaged jeep... And four mangled corpses. While the white dressed one was leaning over the car door and manipulating something on the dash board, the other was looking around... And apparently even the gentle movement of camera managed to catch his attention, as he glared directly at the lense. Split second later, Big Brother's eye has been blinded by a shot from his side arm. Jelen and Hornick, had enough time to see the figure in car jerk up, revealing much slender silhuette, before the camera in another corner was shot down as well, leaving them completly in the dark for the estate's front.

...

"Ochujałeś? (Polish: Untranslatable, but it involves dick and questioning ones sanity) Don't scare me like that." Strzyga complained while smacking her partner in the back of the head, causing the man to growl in response.

"We have no time for you to mess around. What were you even trying to do?"

"Get us some music of course. It's kinda dull here." Came the flippant answer, earning her a disaproving snort.

...

"Who the hell are those guys?" Hornick asked slightly dumbfounded.

"No idea really." The acting comanding officer admited dejectedly. "They busted one of our smaller outposts, and Kola passed down order to eliminate them post haste, mentioning they may put up some fight. Nothing..." He hissed swinging his arm in an arc towards the – now useless – monitors. "Suggested _this_!"

The troops manager stayed silent, face frowning, deeply in thought. Did they really grown so placid with the easy work they had? They operated mostly by bribes and blackmail. They had field agents, they had suppression/assasin teams across the world for those few cops that came sniffing too close, rare disgruntled client, or that one lucky prey that slipped through their network. Their only opposition came in the form of poorly organized gangs that had no idea who they messed with, or an desperate escapee trying to break free by force. They rarely went against a single person able to afford an full-auto.

Their superior numbers and equipement came simply as a statement of "because we can" than actual necessity. All this time, they've been shooting fishes in a barrel and then suddenly someone comes to them up front and hits them hard. The self appointed titan has been wounded and had no idea how to react on the first blood it shed.

Coming back to reality, Hornick realized he need to give his superior some answer. If only to stop him from making some rash decisions on his own.

"I've send everyone who was on standby. We have thirty people pulled out of bed and getting ready, and a dozen of Vlci as main house security plus a janitor."

Hornick responded in a low tone, before adding grimly "Problem is, I don't really have an authority over the squad guarding the house. They are supposed to be elite of our forces answering only to Kola and Boss above him. While Boss took most of those guys with him as a personal entourage, those that remained, are just doing as they please and could've just ignored you. But why would they ignore the expolsion? And don't even get me start on Mishka. Only Boss himself can order around that fucking ork."

"Why do we even keep him?"

"He can handle disposal of the bodies _and_ keep the house clean. All for pitty penny." Hornick said matter-of-factly.

"We wasted enough time. Those two are now in open field and no longer have element of surprise. Send everyone we have left and just waste those fuckers." Jelen switched back to commanding tone and was mildly surprised when Hornick let out and exasperated groan.

In all truth, Citrad just felt as if he has to deal with a moron. He wisely chose to not voice that thought, instead coming out with annoyed explanation "Have you seen that guy taking down those cameras? No aiming, single bullet each. And in case you weren't paying attention he's wearing tactical gear and at least two firearms. One he used for camera and a Kalashnikov and that's what I could see. Those are not some noisy cops and no local gangbangers. Whoever they are, they have bite to match their bark. We send our guys straight at them, and at least half of them will be gunned down the moment they exit the building. Even if we could overwhelm them with numbers, I'm not losing my men in such stupid way. No. Instead, we'll send the troops through secret passage to main house basement. They'll check in with Vlci and some will take position on the roof. They'll give us vision. Our uninvited guests no doubt will not stop on our front lawn and will try to storm the house, for whatever reason. There we will have advantage of terrain and we still have the cameras onthe first floor and in few half floor points. We can hunt them there. If the intruders will try to retreat, the roof team will take them out." With a plan outlined, Hornick felt better. They were getting back some control over the situation.

...

While Roanapur was a sity of sin, crime, grime and every alcohol imaginable, it wouldn't be much of a city without some milder ventures besides pubs and bars. Take for example the little, cozy cafe where at one of the tables, a certain Japanese ex-office drone was nursing a cup of coffe. He certainly have seen better days, with blood shot eyes and his usually immaculately combed hair, now in slightl disarray. Whenever the door opened he tossed almost panicked glance towards the entrance, expecting a loud, angry and temperamental gunwoman to burst in any second.

He did not expected another familiar face however.

"Lotton? Lotton the Wizard?"

Hearing his name the blond, goofy and not exactly competent bounty-hunter turned his gaze to spot one of the more sane members of Lagoon Company.

"Rock?" He asked likwise surprised to see the man away from his group's usual watering hole in Yellow Flag.

Ordering a glass of milk, he took seat opposite of the negotiator. "Didn't expected to see you here. Quite a way out of your usual route."

"That's the point." Rock groaned. "I'm avoiding Revy. She couldn't get much sleep due to the smell so she kept dragging me to drink. I don't mind getting hammered once in a while, but even my liver needs a break." He said hanging his head tiredly. "What about you?"

"Ah, I'm actually quite a regular here. I need to make myself scarce, once or twice a month if I want to keep my head if you catch my drift." The "Wizard" answered making Rock cringe at the implication. "And this little place is quiet and out of sight. A perfect shelter for a stormy days to pass."

"Today as well?" Rock inquired. He may have been more tactful if not for the pounding in his head.

"Uhh... No." Lotton answered as if pondering if he should touch the topic but apparently seeing no harm, he explained. "It's actually for similiar reasons as Miss Revy's sleeping troubles. Because of the crematory."

"Crematory?" That got Rock's attention.

"Yeah. The old fish factory has been repurposed for bodies disposal." Explained the self proclaimed abstinent. "Italians and Columbians are sending their opposition there. At least that's the word among Triads according to Miss Shenhua."

"Huh? I' must have been out of the loop more than I thought." Rock facepalmed with a groan. "It's all Revy's fault." He complained, but continued right away. "Anyway. How does it tie with you being here today?"

Lotton released heavy sight of a man who has to carry burdens of the world on his shoulders. "Since that new group appeared with their services, Miss Sawyer has been moody. It's not really that she lacks bussiness, since she is Mister Chang's go-to person, but still... Her pride as a Roanapur's number one cleaner took a hit. She looks like she's ready to go on one-woman war against the new guys, but stays realistic about the odds. So she has a lot of frustration and not enough meat to vent it on. I decided it would be wise, to stay out of her sight for a while..."

Rock nodded in understanding. It would be hard for him to forget a petite goth woman, swinging a chainsaw. What was with this town and stupidly lethal females anyway?

...

"It's too quiet." Commented man, looking around tensly. If he had fur it would be standing on his back right now.

"I wanted to get some music, but radio's busted." Came the 'Well-it's-obvious' reply from the ghost like woman.

"Urrh! Not in that sense." Groned the darker half on monochrome duo. "No more movement from enemy. Shouldn't they have more people guarding their supposed headquarters?"

"Maybe we actually killed them all and only head honcho himself is cowering under his bed now?" Strzyga interjected optimistically with a grin that would look cute on someone who _didn't_ make appointments with shark's dentist.

"Or they wisened up to trying zerg rush and changed tactics." Aaand it crashed againt the rock of scepticism. "But we can't second guess now. I'm entering. But I have a favour to ask." He said, motioning towards the smaller building. "I think this served as barracks. Do you think you can investigate it? You don't have to infiltrate the interior. Just try to garner if they have more troops or anything really."

"Kurwa proszę..." (Polish: Bitch please) Strzyga narrowed her eyes as her grin streched further, turning predatory and much more fitting for her fang filled maw. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

At that, her partner gave his own smile in return. It was the first actual smile he had shown since their escapade started. It was surprisingly gentle expression on his usually serious or angered face.

Strzyga hoped to God, that whatever chemical they used to bleach her skin can hide the damn blushes.

She was torn out of her sudden schoolgirl flashback, by her companion speaking again.

"Hey. Do you still have that laser sight for my gun that you borrowed?"

"Yeah I do." She answered a bit surprised, but pulling the accesory from her own bag anyway. "Do you actually need it?"

The response 'In case I need to distract a pet tiger' was not what she expected, but she laughed anyway.

"Who would keep a... Oh..." And then she cringed inadvertently. There was this one time in Okinawa...

Their government never let them anywhere near Japan ever again after this.

After pressing the handle, the door predictible turned out to be closed. Well, good thing that our tall, dark and grumpy hero had a multipurpose key.

Pretty much every cop, fireman or soldier will tell you, that no, you can't open a four inches thick, oaken, double door with a boot lockpick.

Well none of them were this guy.

The first kick, shook the entrance like battering ram. By the second, cracks were heard. The third released splinters. By the fifth, the obstacle flung wide open and the assailant burst in, AK - 47 at the ready.

He was however, greeted by silence.

Not lowering his guard (or the gun for the matter) he took a step forward before Strzyga's voice from behind stopped him.

"Chochoł!"

He turned to see that his partner actually had a worried expression. "Don't die."

He opened mouth to answer, but she cut him to the chace with a follow up.

"You still owe me a new stash of drugs! You wasted all of them on that guy you turned into a cold buffet!"

If he was a manga character, he would have a huge sweatdrop on his head right now. Without even dignifying that with a response, he moved deeper into the mansion.

...

 **That's it. The second part, whenever I'm done with editing.**

 **Despite my best efforts I can't catapult to Roanapur immidietly, since all the pieces are taking slow to move in position and the only action at the moment is taking place away from everyone's favourite/hated sin city.**

 **To sum it up. Strzyga and her pal continue their crusade and things still stink in Roanapur. Now just a notch more. The next chapter will have Revy. That I can promise.**

 **Also those two and their team were in Japan once on a mission. There was a tiger involved. Things were not pretty. It shall never be spoken about again XD**

 **And just a little trivia:**

 **RPG - 76 "Komar" - One shot weapon created as an alternative for RPG - 7. It can only fire once but it's smaller, lighter and carrying few of them can create faster fire rate than reloading RPG - 7. Can be fired from a building or a vehicle, thanks to a back blast reducing design. No longer produced.**

 **Chochoł (Read as Hohou) - A name given to a folk tale spirit, that could be best described as Cousin It made out of straw. Relatively harmless, but when insulted, may hex people.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Ok. So here's what was supposed to be the second part of chapter #, but after "editing" turned out to "rewriting whole sections and adding new ones" it can be considered chapter 4 anyway...**

 **Truth to be told I had no idea what I'm doing here. I just kept writing things because "it sounded good in my head" and ended up with this clog, that I can't divide anymore. Hope it's not too confusing.**

 **Disclaimer the same as in chapter 1**

 **(^3^)**

 **/||||||\**

The first thing Cyril noticed upon opening the door was the stench. The pigsty smelled like – predictibly – shit. The second was the noise. Pigs were restless and noisy. Maybe they felt the havoc above, or maybe it was feeding time. Cyril could swear that a particulary large hog was eyeing him hungrily. He had no time to ponder on that though, as his companions were pushing on him from behind, eager to get to get out of claustrophobic tunnel. The walkway between pig pens were wider and surpsisingly clean, maintained by the man called simply Mishka the Janitor. Seriously, the guy had to give creeps to everyone. A monster of a man, with face burned beyond recognition was spending most of his days underground. He barely spoke and when he did, the words were slurred and unpleasant sounding, from the damage to his lips and throat. His large obese body, more resembling the pigs he was taking care of than that of human. But there was a terrible strengh behind those layers of fat. There were rumors, that when one of the clients insulted him, Mishka backhanded him so hard he snapped his spine.

And there he was, pushing that oversized cart looking more like a small dumpster on wheels, that he used to transport pig "feed" in.

The best way to deal with him, was to get straight to the point, without additional comments. Cyril had no idea when he was appointed the leader of their group, but it felt like everyone expected him to do the talking. Maybe he shouldn't go first into the tunnel...

"Mishka."

One word was enough the get the attention of the Janitor and one inquisitive glance from the eye in that scorcherd face was enough to prompt Cyril to continue.

"We're under attack. Where are the Vlci?"

Janitor's eyes narrowed, but he jerked his head and started walking. Cyril and the rest of the troops simply followed. Soon they were out of pigsty and in a part of the basement resembling spacious bunker, with rows of heavy metal doors, with soundproofed rooms of various size and equipement. This was the place where some of boss' guests were coming for an "after party" fun. Mishka pointed to one of the doors without a word, but from his body language, it was easy to tell he was not pleased. After that however, instead of returning back to pigsty, he kept walking. Cyril against his better judgement blurted a question.

"Where you going?"

Janitor as usual, stayed silent. Merely pointing upwards.

Cyril returned to task at hand. Another door another sensation. This time it was noise that greeted him. Deafning music went unrecognizable when mixed with equally deafening sound of gunfire.

Here they were were. The so caled higher class. The Elite. The Vlci. The Wolves. Twelve men drinking vodka and shooting at pig carcas from automatic rifles. As they say, 'When the cat's away...'

There was no way Cyril could outshout the noise, but luckily he didn't had to. When more of the men following him started flooding the room, Vlci finally noticed something's wrong. Radio was turned off and gunfire stopped.

When you're embarassed about getting caught with a hand in a cookie jar, one of the most common method of taking attention from you is to go on offensive. Si it wasn't surprising, when one of the elite troops barked.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

Cyril had no patience for this attitude. He was pulled out of the bed, summarily informed that a platoon worth of his colleagues had been annihilated in five minutes and that remaining men – him included are supposed to eliminate intruders as they enter the mansion or when they try to retreat. He went through a low ceiling tunnel, a pigsty, had to deal with Janitor, and now this? It was no surprise that he answered with as much vitrol.

"We're here to remind you to do your fucking job! While you're having NRA Anonymus party, two assholes Kola personally ordered to be put six feet under, have came to pay a visit. We've lost three cars and half of our force and by now, they should be setting shop in the guest room. So be so kind and fucking move!"

The tirade actually caused the guilty party to go pale. They had one job and if they screwed that...

Quickly masking thier spike of terror with another burst of anger, the man Cyril was talking with, shoved him aside with usual dose of insults about "fucking amateurs". Those of the Wolves that took of their kevlar vests, geared back up with remarkable fluidity. They also appeared to hold their alcohol pretty well, as none of them swayed, despite the bottles littering the floor. Maybe there was some merit to that elite force after all.

As the Vlci pushed their way out of the room, Cyril took out radio and reported.

"We got primadonna's to move. Their heading up. We're following."

After that, they proceeded smoothly.

...

Roanapur had a steep learning curve about things you should avoid if you were just a small time crook, without a backing of some greater organized crime group. Among the things you should stay way from if you could, were gunfights that din't concern you, recklessly driven cars and a pissed off female gunman from local delivery company.

Revy stamped down the crowded streets, barely acknowledging people giving her wider bearth, instead scanning with her eyes for a familiar white shirt, that usually stuck out among the motley populace like a sore thumb. Despite her efforst however, she couldn't spot the negotiator. He wasn't at the hotel or the Yellow Flag. She even checked the ramen bazaar where she threatned to shoot him and got them both arrested, nearly two years ago.

True. At this point she could just go bother Eda for a drinking company, but was in no mood for a smartass nun's quip. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that by now she _may_ have worried that Rock got himself kidnapped. Again.

Before she got on the move again however, something caught her attention. For a second she couldn't put a finger on what exactly felt wrong to her, but her eyes kept gravitating to one of the tables and a five people sitting there.

It finally clicked why they got her attention. She didn't recognized them. Sure it's not like she knew every single person in town, but local gangs had certain themes about them that made them recognizable. The main four were obvious, but even the smaller groups could be usually discerned from others, and Revy was sure that those guys were new.

All of them asians, carrying Uzis. Lightly dressed in mostly green and brown and with hair cut short or completly shaved. This was not unusual in Roanapur, however she also noticed a peculiar uniformity they had - a snake tattooed across their collarbones, loosly coiling around their necks, as if worn like a jewelery.

One man in particular stood out from the group. He wore simple white sleeveless shirt and and grey shorts. What grabbed Revy's attention however was that he had posture very similiar to Dutch's and additional tattoos in the form of bull like horns on his bald head. She couldn't spot his weapon from the position he was sitting, if he actually carried one which would be stupid to assume hi _didn't_.

As if sensing her gaze, the big guy turned his head towards her and his four pals followed his example. She was met with stares varying from curiosity and amusement, to annoyance and maybe contempt. The horned one hover had stare more focused. More... aware. The stare one has when they can instantly recognize danger and they appraise its quality.

So one of them did had a head on his shoulders, Revy decided. Perfect to put a bullet in it.

Revy may not have been the brightest in the crew, but she also wasn't stupid. It didn't took her long to figure out who sits at the table. There was only one batch of newcomers that the town was gossiping about, and guess what? The air quality dropped with their arrival and that started her sleeping problems.

If she wasn't seriously sleep deprived, mildly hungovered and frustrated at Rock's disappearance, she might have handled it a bit more carefully. But as she suffered from all of the above, she made quick stride towards the table.

Unusually for her however, Revy didn't pulled her guns immidietly, instead she slammed her hand down on the table, making ramen bowls rattle and five men at the table to look at her wide eyed. This also brough caused everyone else in vicinity to glance in their direction, and few people who recognized her, began to slowly abandon their tables.

Now that she had their attention, with a smile as fake as porn actress tits, Revy spoke.

"You're the shitheads responsible for the stench in town, right?"

For a moment her answer was a stunned silence. Then there were some angry shouts in thai, that Revy couldn't understand, before the larger man (now obviously revealed as leader) rised his hand and silenced his subordinates, before answering in english.

"That would be us. You want something?"

While no petty insults or vulgar language was used, there was no mistake of the challange carried in his tone.

"Yeah." Revy was no longer smiling. Her body tensed as she talked. "Tell whover is in charge, to cork that stinking hole, before I plug his ass with a bullet. If that's you, I can even do it right now."

There. Let no one say that Revy didn't learned negotiation in all her time around Rock.

By now even the low ranked Snakes (not that Revy knew them by that name), with dubious grasp on english, recognized the body language and a tone of a threat and couldn't let it stand. For someone to threaten them so openly was unthinkable. They needed to prove that no one gets away with picking a fight with Gorgon's Head!

All four, as one reached for their SMGs, accompanied by sounds of dropping chairs and people evacuating. With years of practice, peddlers ducked behind their counters long before guns were even pointed at anyone.

Meanwhile, Revy was already pulling the trigger, dropping one of the Snakes before he even got a chance to aim. Man with tattooed horns proved to be more capable, flipping the table and obscuring her line of sight long enough to avoid getting shot by her second cutlass.

Not even waiting for the first corpse to fall on the ground, Revy was already on the move, just in time as the horned guy retaliated with a shot from a dual barelled sawn-off shotgun he revealed.

The blast caused a cloud of splinters rise from the wooden table that stood just behind Revy's previous spot.

Two gangsters flipped another table, and using it as a cover, the opened fire at the female gunslinger.

In response, she dashed at the closest stall and using the counter for a step, she jumped up and towards a surprised gangsters. Horned man cursed as his second shot was timed wrong, and hit a shelf of ceramics instead of a woman who stood in front of it a second ago.

New guys in town apparently werent used for their target to be that nimble. Several bullets fired from above, put down the Snakes behind the table, leaving only one mook and the leader. The latter one did had some sense in him and rushed to pick the Uzi of the first fallen. The one with full ammo clip.

The last rank and file ended up with multiple holes in his chest the moment Revy touched the ground again.

After puting down the last thug, she made a mad dash towards another counter, jumping behind it for cover, just as the big guy managed to send a series her way. Few bullets managed to penetrate the old wood and fly past her head. It would be bad to rely on this place for safety.

Standing up and firing both her guns while running, forced the tattooed gangster to move in search of safe spot, which he found behind a dumpster. Not exactly pleasant place, at the hot weather, but definitely more sturdy than mostly wooden stalls.

Finding herself in more open area, Revy dodged incoming fire by jumping behind a car that turned to be a black Ford Scorpio Tacky image of cobra painted on the hood left no doubts who owned this car. It would be _so bad_ if it got shredded by bullets...

Momentary lull hanged above the battlefield, as the both sides were preparing for what could be the deciding clash.

They never got the chance.

The sound of engines and police sirens filled the bazaar, causing Revy to groan.

"Oh, fuck me..."

Surely, a moment later the area was surrounded by police, guns ready and in front of the force stood none to pleased Chief Watsup.

Gaze sweeping over the destruction, stopped at only familiar face.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here..." He sounded exasperated and almost resigned. As if the world was punishing him for undeserved crimes.

Revy snorted in annoyence, before getting up and slowly holstering her guns. She didn't felt like getting on police's bad side on top of her other little woes.

"In my defence, they pulled on me first." She said motioning with her head towards the dead bodies.

"With four stiffies on the road it wont go down that smoothly. You still need to come with us and hope that your boss can get you out of this."

"Fucking great." Revy groaned. Dutch will throw a hissy fit or whatever.

"Hey, that wastes my time as well..." Watsup retorted equally annoyed. "And who are you?" He now turned towards the Thai man, escorted at gun point by a pair of officers.

Said man looked both confused and pissed as well as tad embarassed. Apparently he never got himself arrested before. At least not since he started his _career_.

"He and his pals are the reason the town stinks more than usual." Revy thrown in before he could speak, which erned her a growl at which she merely smirked back.

"New here, huh?" Watsup concluded, sizing the man with his gaze. "Well you're about to learn how things work in this town. You're coming with us as well. And don't try anything." Watsup added when he noticed muscular man making glances around, looking for occasion to make a break for it. "We're not the only one who can shoot you without a second tought."

Just as Revy was packed into a car, and the man was about to be placed in another, there was a screeching of tires, as a black car suddenly emerged from around the corner and with a flair and another screech, twisted sideways before stopping just in front of police cordon. With slight surprise, Revy noticed the cobra painted on the hood.

Police forces tensed ready for a gunfight, but instead of excpected gangsters opening fire to free their pal, a driver's door opened and a single man stepped out. Colorful shirt and ripped jeans were pretty common, however Revy recognized the snake tattoo around the neck instantly. If there were doubts about his affiliation, they were gone now. She also noticed a scale like pattern tattooed on his bald head, and a pair of curved knives as his only visible weapon.

If she wasn't paying attention already, she would probably missed the horned man speaking.

"Basilisk?"

The man called Basilisk, walked... no... _sauntered_ towards police, momentarily rising his hands up, to show he's unarmed.

After sweeping over the crowd with his gaze, his eyes stopped at the only officer without gun pulled out and higher ranking insignia.

"You must be Chief Watsup, am I correct?" He asked in a tone that was deceptively friendly. As in - lawyer that's about to squeeze your money - friendly.

No surprise that instantly put Watsup on the edge, but with a squad of men ready to fire, he felt safe enough to answer.

"Yeah. What bussines do you have?"

"Oh. I intended to collect my associate. But seeing the situation, I would like to hand you some files I have with me." The Snake answered without losing his almost cheerful tone, before he slowly started reaching into his back pocket.

Police officers tensed in anticipation but indeed, with the same slowness he pulled some papers from behind, and stretched his arm towards Watsup.

Chief of police eyed the outstretched hand warily, eventually not seeing a trap, he took the documents. As he scanned the contents, Revy could see his forehead moving, despite his sunglasses indicating his widening eyes. His fingers clenched around the papers and as he looked back at the smug looking Basilisk, he asked in a low tone of barely restrained fury.

"What... Is this?"

"That's a gesture of good will from my... Let's call him bussiness partner, who intends to appear in town in a few days and would like to keep the most cordial relation with local law enforcement." The Snake answered without losing the almost cheerful tint in his voice. "And that also extends to his current Human Resources management. That would be us."

In contrast Watsup was unusal mix of panic and and desire to rip the bastard with his bare hands. In the end with a strained voice he ordered his men: "Release him."

Surprised, but used to rules of shadowy deals in this town, they listened, stepping away from muscular man.

To Basilisk he all but growled. "Take your pal and get out of my sight."

"With pleasure." Basilisk answered before turning and walking back towards his car. He only twisted his head to call "Come Cato!"

Cato, as he was now named, growled at the notion of being called like a dog which judging by smirk on Basilisk's face the shorter man new perfectly.

"My car..." Cato grumbled at which Basilisk spoke without the hint of previous playfulness.

"You'll get it back later. We have to talk."

At that Cato without further words got into passenger's seat. As the car was moving Revy finally exploded.

"What the fuck! If you let him get away, let me go to!"

"Shut up Two-Hands!" Watsup snapped back. Something rather unusual for him. "Just know that he outbid you. By a lot."

And with that, fuming Revy was taken away.

...

 _"What the hell is wrong with this place?"_ The man, that Strzyga refered to as "Chochoł", thought as he tried to make sense of the mansion's layout.

To call the design of the house questionable, would be an understatement. Corridors were narrow, and filled with sharp turns and dead ends. Sometimes he was running into completly emty rooms as if construction was abandoned half way. Staircases seemed to lead to sealed sections of the house, unconnected with the rest, forcing him to turn back and seek another way. And still no sign of his target. Actually, no sign of life at all. No opposition, no staff to maintain the place... Nothing.

Some places looked like guest rooms, and at one time he may have found the dining room. Despite the lavish decor, the place seemed to be made haphazardly and randomly. This looked more like a video game level than an actual house anyone would live in.

And then it clicked. In a way it was a game. The prey that found themselves here would run blindly, panicked, like a mouse in the labyrinth. With nothing to use as weapon, no places to use for cover, they will tire themselves out, while the hunter with full knowledge of layout, fully equipped and holding all the advantages, would close in at whatever pace he pleased. This whole floor was one giant fake. Maybe the whole house was. But Chochoł couldn't know until he got higher. Running into yet another dead end, he cursed. But then in the silence, his ears caught a sound, like something sliding. Then there was another sound, of something heavy and rumbling. Following that noise, he found himself at the intersection with another narrow hallway. Strange... The lights weren't working here beyond the first few steps, the path was growing dark and it was impossible to see the end of it, but the noise was coming from there. He raised his gun, but with the light behind him and the dark in fron, it was hard to adjust his eyesight, still he managed to notice movement in the darkness just as the sound got louder. And faster. Before he could even fire, a heavy metal cart came barelling at him from the gloom. Corridor too narrow to dodge in either side and no time to retreat behind the corner. If that thing hit him at this pace, his legs and pelvic bones will go to pieces. No way in hell a mini dumpster was ruining his dick.

With no way to strafe or retreat, he tensed muscles in his legs... and wall jumped. The move itself was no longer hard by itself, even in full equipement... But the deadweight of the bag was a big no-no as it thrown his balance off. While he managed to lift himself enough for the wheeled container to roll half an inch below him, his landing on other hand left was botched by one sided pull of his luggage. Avoiding downright tripping, he none the less stumbled a little and lost focus while trying to maintain his balance.

That's when mass of flesh collided with him and forced him on his back while his throat was pressed down by a forearm while another hand tried to press a thumb in his eyeball.

Janitor fall on him like a meat avalanche. The obese body pinned both his arms to his chest, along with a rifle he was holding, nearly breaking his fingers. He had a wall on his left, preventing him from manouvering this arm, which in turn blocked his access to the sidearm under his armpit. The damn bag was lying next to his right hip, what with added weight of fatman, blocked both his hip sidearm and a bayonet on the tight.

And that accursed hand was still trying to pin to poke out his eye.

Twisting his head with sudden movement he caught the offensive digit between his teeth and bit with all the force he could muster.

Witch a crunch and a scream it remained in his mouth as Mishka rised his now four fingerend hand to his eyes, he also lifted the right side of his body just a bit.

That bit was enough for Chochoł to slip his right arm away from the rifle and to the trench knife strapped at the right side of his chest. Ripping the blade from upside down harness, he slammed it under Janitor's jaw. Frantically moving it left and right, tearing a huge gash that poured blood like waterfall, all over his face and chest.

The pig like man gurgled, looked down with hate... And went back to chocking him and kept pressing even as he was bleeding out and kept at it until the last vestiges of life left him. Only then, the black clad man, managed to push off the offending mass. Getting from the ground, he wiped out as much of a Mishka's blood from his face as he could and spat out the finger still held in his mouth.

"Does he ever wash his hands?" He murmured. Then proceeded into the dark.

The hallway proved quite long, but on the end Chochoł found... Another dead end. Now feeling mightly pissed, he pulled out a flash light out of his bag. Upon closer inspection, there was a thin crack running down the middle of the wall. Chochoł pulled out the bayonet and shoved it in the narow passage. Tugging left and right, finally something gave in and the wall parted, revealing a spacious hidden elevator. At last. Up we go.

...

"Fuck!" Jelen kicked the chair in fury. Taking a few deep breaths and regaining a modicum of composure, he called through the radio. "Everyone heads up. Mishka went on his own and royally fucked up. Our uninvited guest bled him out like kosher pig, and found out the elevator. He's heading up." Ignoring Hornick pointing out that pigs _can't_ be kosher, period, Diesel went on with his update. "We have no cameras on higher floors, so you're on your own in that regard. And one more thing – he was alone in the labyrinth. The woman never got in the building and we don't have her on the backyard cameras. She may still be in the front. Those of you who go on the roof, keep an eye out for her." Sastisfied with universal confirmation from the troops and Vlci, he deflated. This was exhausting him.

"Why would she?"

He jerked his head at the out-of-the-blue question that came from Hornick.

"What?"

"The woman." Citrad clarified. "Why would she stay outside? On that matter, why are they actually here for?"

After a moment of silence it dawned on them. "For the boss!" They answered in tandem.

"That could mean she's there in case he tries to escape. But that doesn't take into account the secret passage." Hornick muttered.

"Or that the boss himself isn't even here." Jelen chuckled. "The rat is running blindly and it's just a matter of time before he gets wasted, looking for a nonexisting prize."

"So... What now?" Hornick asked, for the first time unsure. "We just wait?"

"Why not?" Jelen answered, picking up the chair and reclining in it. "We're no longer in a hurry."

"Actually, you're out of time."

Both men heads snapped towards the door, just in time to see a white shape rushing in. Hornick reached for his gun, but a pair of hands gripped his skull and jerked it down, leading his jaw to collision course with rising knee. With sickening crack, and blood bursting from his mouth, Hornick's head jerked back upwards as soon as it was released from the grip. And then he felt an animalistic jaws clamping on his throat, before tearing it open in one violent motion.

Too dumbfounded by the sudden intrusion, Jelen didn't even rose from his chair as Hornick fell lifeless. For his (lack of) efforts, he recieved heel between the eyes – courtesy of long legged roundhouse kick – that sprawled him on the floor along with his chair. A white booted foot pressed on his chest and he soon found himself at the bussiness end of KS-23K. Not that he could recognize it as such, a bit too preocuppied, by a ghastly face that was leering at him with bloodied, shark-like teeth.

"We have so much to talk about."

...

When Chochoł stepped out of the elevator, he felt a small sense of relief. This place looked fairly normal. A spacious area in front, with thos staircases leading onto higher condignation. Left and right stretched a hallways with doors on either side, kinda like in hotel, and as far as he could see, both of them were taking ninety degree turns, going deeper. Directly in front of him, placed between the stair a dual door. Upper condignation, had similiar set up, with two paths sideways and a double doors in the middle.

This at least should be easy to navigate. Even if he'll have to kick open every fucking door.

One thing was worrying though. Why was everything dark and silent. Lights were turned off, and still no staff. Surely they weren't sleeping – His brand of entrance would send a graveyard into frenzy. He was starting to get a sinking feeling that his target may not be here.

Finally something caught his attention a disturbance in the silence. Rapid movement of multiple feet. He smirked. Too many and too heavy to be a butler with a tea for guest. It took him a second to locate the direction of the sounds, and it turned out they were coming from the door, directly in front. Interesting.

He silently crossed the distance to stairs and climbed to the higher level. Now directly above, he could hear another movement coming from the doors behind him. So, they were coming from two levels.

Bolting to the left, hea reached the end of the corridor, and hid around the corner. His face smudged with paint and blood, invisible in the darkness as he peered back just as the door swung open.

 _"And here are the little lost things."_ He thought. _"Quite a lote of them."_

As the enemies poured through the doors, Chochoł's eyes - aready accustomed to the gloom – noticed disparity in the group: While lesser in numbers, few of the men were moving with more caution and precision, with few others rather obviously trying to imitated their example. Well that and the better, uniformed equipement was a dead giveaway.

"Higher breed, huh?" He muttered to himself.

His pursuers begun to spread into four groups – one for each path. He counted nine people coming his way, two of those "better class" on the front, guns rised, steps careful with six scrubs trailing behind them behind them, and finally third of the – Chochoł decided to call them "Pros" – was closing the rear.

He liked those odds.

What was the pace of the other groups? Similiar to this one? How much time will he have to relocate? They were checking each individual room on the wa? Perfect. So much time...

He slipped the bag and put it down, pulling GP – 25 out of his it, and hook it up to his rifle, before loading.

Finally, they checked the last room on their way... Any moment now... He pulled out a bayonet. Half a meter long blade that came in tandem with his AK - 74. Such a convinient tool. Passing it to his left hand and gripping it in reverse, he reached for his belt and took a granade with slightly green tint. He would need to time it well.

Or not.

Suddenly music blasted in previously silent house... From enemies' radioes.

 _Howling winds keep screaming round! And the rain comes pouring down!_

 _Doors are locked and bolted now! As the thing crawls into town!_

Chochoł almost balked. _"Seriously Gośka? Seriously?"_ * He thought incredously.

Oh to hell with it. Distraction is a distraction.

 _Straight out of hell! One of a kind! Stalking his victim! Don't look behind you_

Preocuppied by what seemed as a radio malfunction, thugs didn't noticed a small object sailing above their heads nor heard it landing on soft carpet. They noticed the sudden smoke that obscured the path they just came from though. They focused on the wrong side.

Using the sudden confusion Chochoł rushed from beyond a corner, plunging the oversized knife deep in surprised Pro's neck, and between his vertebraes making him go limp like old mans dick.

 _Nightcrawler! Beware the beast in black! Nightcrawler! You know he's coming back!_

With unusual strengh, he managed to hold the dead body dangling in that position, while the WIST - 94 prototype** ripped from hip holster, send a bullet into nearest Pro's brain.

 _Night Crawler!_

The second of shock he aquired was enough time for him to fire another shot that landed at the base of the nose of one of the regular goons. At this proximity, the bullet exited through the back of his head and hit the thug right behind him in the face, this time staying inside. Hooray for economy. By the time three bodies hit the ground (the last one was still being held by Chochoł's blade like a meat shield), the remaining enemies finally answered with their own fire. However the kevlar covered corpse still hanging from his bayonet in front of him, proved excelent at stopping even the concentrated assault, and soon four more bodies joined the not so exlusive club of Tien Shinhan*** cosplayers. Like a sitting ducks.

 _Sanctuary is being sought! Whispered prayers a last resort! Homing in its' cry distorts! Terror struck they know they're caugh!_

The last one. The Pro, had enough piece of mind to notice the futility of continued attack and dived sideways to the nearest room. Chochoł could hear him futily trying to radio for assistance, but the music was apparently send through all their frequencies. He was probably panicking. Huddled behind whatever cover he could find and aiming his gun at the entrance waiting for assistance. Cute.

Chochoł let the body drop from his bayonet and produced another granade from his belt.

This one with a smiley face painted on it.

Tossing it at the door frame at an angle, he made it bounce in the middle of the room and then he quickly grabbed the door handle and closed it shut. Explosion shook the room and that was followed by inuman screams.

Oh yeah, that was a white phosphorus granade.

Because he felt like being an extra asshole.

As the song went on, so was his assault. However even with radio communication disabled, the gunshots gave away his general position. That's what the smoke grenade opening was for. The hallway became obscured, making the incoming reinforcement unsure if they can shot without friendly fire. How fast could they approach then? How far could they be? Taking an estimated guess, he fired a 40mm of bad day - most commonly known as VOG-25 – from behind the smoke screen. The screams confirmed that yes, bad day happened to some people.

Now, before proceeding further, he switched out the magazine in his AK - 47. The new one had a smiley face painted on it...

He passed through the smoke cloud, that was starting to trickle in the open area, which left him mostly hidden while allowing him to see a shadow of movement.

He pulled out another granade.

Unlocking the pin he counted the seconds, before tossing it, just as he could see enemy forces begin to run up the stairs to his condignation. Blinding flash filled the room, along with curses and panicked shots.

And more curses as someone got hit by friendly fire.

Chochoł send a loose, scatered series towards the congregating goons. Not really aiming to kill... As long as they're wounded, cyanide coated bullets will do the rest.

Because WP wasn't dick move enough.

What was once a sizeable force, was now reduced to a single digit number that scattered and tried to take potshots at him from behind cover of stairs. With himself also hidden behind a corner, from their perspective this must have looked like a stalemate. It was time to dispell that illusion.

"Listen shits!" Chochoł shouted. "You're all that's left! The reinforcements are not coming and I personally hate each and every single one of you! But I have questions _and_ I have grenades! Those who drop their weapons and stand by the elevator, will have a chance to answer them and those who give me most valuable info will get out alive, with all body parts attached! Everyone else will get a six hundred grams of "Fuck you!" instead! You have one minute! After that I'll just kill you all!"

There was a confused commotion, ranged from calling his bluff, to a uncertainty who they fear more: Him or their boss.

 _"How does it feel bastards?"_ He thought with grim satisfaction. _"To be the ones trapped without hope? Not so fun on this side of the fence isn't it?"_

The minute was running out and Chochoł reached for grenade. If that doesn't blow them it will scare them to the open.

However before the time was up, he was surprised to hear gunshots. One series, two... An outraged scream that was cut short by a third. And then something clicking on the floor.

"I surrender! I'll talk!"

 _"What the fuck..."_ Was the thirst thought that popped in Chochoł's head. Stepping from behind his cover with rifle aimed, quick look over the area confirmed unarmed man standing by the elevator with hands up... And dead bodies of his pals. The bastard killed his own buddies to increase his own chances.

 _"Disgusting..."_ He thought. But considering the track record of this organization... Actually not that surprising. _"I guess it's true what the say about pets resembling their masters."_

Stepping down to lower level he stood in front of the captive. Still aiming Kalashnikov at his head he spoke through clenched teeth, letting his anger seep into his voice.

"Where is Sasha?"

"He's not here, he went on bussines trip somewhere!" While goon wasn't shaking, a paleness and beads of sweat appeared on his face and forehead.

Chochoł cursed inwardly. So they missed the mark after all. Nothing to do but gather as many consolation prizes as they could get.

"Where?"

"I don't know! He never informed us! Maybe the Vlci knew, since he took most of them as his personal escort, but all that remained here are dead now!"

 _"Vlci?"_ That confused Chochoł for a moment, before it clicked. Oh, that's what Pros must have called themselves. They were the only ones here who may have had some tactical worth to anyone.

"You better think of something usefull then cause I still have a pent up aggresion to spent and it may just come out of the barrel..."

That did the trick. Chochoł could almost see the wheels turning desperately in the guy's brain, before he produced something of use:

"Boss personal quarters are above us! You can't reach them through elevator without his key, but the doors behind you, on either level, lead to main staircase. The last corridor before the roof, has only one door at the end. Boss quarters are behind."

Now that could come in handy. It will spare him kicking every door in the building.

"Very good..." Chochoł acknowledged. "One more thing... Why is this huge house so empty?"

The captive seemed to calmed down a bit, since the guy pointing the gun at his head appeared satisfied, so he answered without panicked shouts this time.

"Boss didn't wanted civilians to snoop around during his absence, and Janitor was enough to tidy this place up..."

And then the survivor remembered Jelen's warning – That the guy in front of him bled Mishka out like a pig, and while Chochoł may have forgot already, his face and chest still looked like he was playing apple bobbing in a blood filled barrel. _That_ was the moment the gangster started to shake.

"You... You killed the Janitor... In melee... Who... What the fuck are you?"

Black clad man stared down at the thug turned jelly, pondering the answer to give. Eventually, he spoke with menacing slowness. "Pass to your boss... That Chernobog is coming for him... Now scram!"

The sudden shout nealy made the terrified hoodlum void his bowels. The elevator door couldn't open and close back, fast enough for him.

Only once the elevator door shut, Chochoł lowered the gun. He really wanted to waste that scum, but it would be counterproductive in the long run. At least this way, the word may get out that if you cooperate, you will be spared. Hope can loose tongues much faster than pain.

...

Despite the urge to talk expressed by Basilisk, two Snakes rode in tense silence. Eventually Cato got fed up heavy atmosphere and was the first to speak.

"What the hell was that. What did you gave that cop?"

"While Watsup may treat Roanapur as his private sandbox, he is still part of the Thai police force, and can be subjected to investigation by their Internal Affairs Department. Like every crook in this town, he enjoyed omission, until someone decided to pay attention to his income and expences."

Basilisk began his explanation.

"As you can guess it raised some eyebrows. And in that matter Sasha intervened, and thrown envelopes to few people. What Watsup recieved was both subpoena that was originally prepared, and a document that voided it, along with note from Sasha how he just saved his ass."

Cato stayed silent for a while mulling over it, before pieces started to clarify.

"After all those years of taking bribes, only now someone noticed it? The one who tipped IAD must have been Sasha himself, correct? And then he pulled Watsup from trouble he himself thrown him in. And more than likely he can put Police Chief under microscope again." He concluded.

Basilisk nodded, his expression grim as he answered.

"And that's what worries me. From what I gathered, Watsup could be pretty easily bought to stay away from us. But Sasha pretty much smothered him with veiled threat. His heavy handed method was completly unnecessary. Why would he do that? Control obsession, or does something made him believe he need that firmer grip on law enforcement? Either way, instead of permanently steering Watsup away like he intended, Sasha most likely provoked him to seek retaliation at convinient moment."

Scale headed gangster took a deep measured breath as he finally spoke what was gnawing at his mind.

"I'm not sure if that partnership will turn beneficial for us. Our partner may be great financial backer, but he starts to look unreliable. We managed to hold our power for generations sticking to our method and I'm having doubts if Sasha's broad strokes fits with how we run things. I'm wondering if we're not getting to greedy with that possibility of extending our influence further west. Getting more contacts in Europe would be a boon, but we must be wary of overextention."

Cato listened to his partner nodding his head from time to time. He indeed had to admit that they took a gamble breaking from their tried approach of slow and steady into what seemed like a lucrative high risk - high reward operation. However thier syndicate took a serious hit in profit with sudden lost of their previous, long time backer and partner - Mamiya Group, about a year ago. What made things worse was that they had no idea what happened. Mamiya family that was supporting them since nearly Gorgon's Head conception, suddenly collapsed.

Their mansion demolished and their legal bussinesses in chaos with disappearance of literally every member of the clan. It was deeply unsettling since they couldn't bribe or scare information out of virtually anyone. They hit nearly complete informational blockade, barely piecing rumors about large gathering and foreign affair, along with a handful of foreign words that could be names of people, places, chemical solutions or just fucking menu of foreign cuisines. Even their egghead couldn't recognize them. They were left with hundreds of men crying for blood and revenge and absolutely no target.

When Sasha appeared with his proposal, it's shameful to admit, but they grabbed it like a lifeline in order to divert their own hordes attention, before the discontent boiled over into uncontrollable chaos.

Taking this all into account, his answer finally formed.

"Let's just wait for Sasha himself to arrive. We may need a strategy meeting and we shouldn't try that over phone or network."

"Speaking of arrivals." Basilisk became a bit more animated as he seemingly changed topic.

"Today we're having the first big time guest from Sasha's own club. It will be different from making vids of hobos getting offed. We may need to finally pull the higher quality goods out of the can."

"Italian and Columbian rejects?" By now Cato also got interested.

"Exactly. We can't fuck that up." Then Basilisk smiled in exceedingly unpleasant manner. "Put on your best pants. We're greeting a real sophisticated gentelman in our humble abode." He drawled sarcastically at which Cato merely snorted in disdain.

...

In hindsight, when you can't see a target that your control told you to look for, you should check in with them. When you can't check in with them because for whatever reason your contact radio plays heavy metal, you should be really worried. When during all that you hear a gunfire and explosions below you, you should at least think about personally checking situation or rethinking your tactics in case things go South... When despite all that you're still just milling around the edge of the roof, you're officially to dumb to live and have no one but youreslf to blame if you end up as bloody pancake on the parking lot below, courtesy of a boot to the ass.

At least that's how Strzyga saw it, once a scream came to an abrupt stop with a wet splat.

To bad that the pals of Mr. Pancake couldn't accept this flawless logic and opened fire at what from their perspective looked like a blood stained phantom. Seriously did they expected for her to stand still as they shot?

Running, rolling and jumping from cover to cover, Strzyga answered with short series from her Glauberyt, catching one of the gangsters in the chest. While the remaining enemies were still shooting at her last known position, she managed to sneak behind the clostes one and with her left hand she pulled out a shotgun and aimed it point blank at the guy's head. The resulting burst of gore was completly unnecesary, but so damn satysfying. That of course caused his two pals to aim at her again.

She was faster.

Buckshot fired from the left hand turned the chest of the closer one into something out of a Bosch's painting, while SMG in the right gave the one standing further, a vertical line of new button holes for his jacket... And his face.

At that moment, Strzyga felt a series hit her back and the guns dropped from her hands.

...

The last man standing breathed heavily as the damn hellion fell at last. The roof was eerily quiet. No more gunshots, radio was dead silent now and the pandemonium below also stopped.

Edging slowly towards the unmoving white shape, he kept his gun raised as he crept closer. He could see it sprawled limply, fallen on it's face, with guns beyond it's grasp now. But something wasn't sitting right with him, taking one step closer, he saw a row of bullet holes on it's back... But no blood coming. Before he could put two and two together, a leg shot up, rising like scorpion's tail and hit him in the hand, breaking his trigger finger. As he cursed in pain, the white body became a blur of movement and soon he felt his legs being kicked from under him. He fell on his back hard enough to have his breath forced out and hit his head on the stone floor. Miraculously, he didn't released his gun, but that was small consolation as starts danced in front of his eyes from the hit to the head.

Good news – The stars cleared instantly.

Bad news – The reason for that was a new searing pain in his wrist, as it was broken by something heavy.

Now he could clearly see, what was once an unmoving was now standing over him in all of it's (her's?) bloodsoaked glory, one foot on his broken wrist and insane smile plastered on the wraith's face. And then she spoke.

"You can't kill a ghost..."

That was the last what he heard, before she stomped on his throat. Hard. With his windpipe crushed, it was the longest, most horryfing four minutes of his life, before consciousness mercifully left him.

...

Strzyga picked up her guns with a slight disappointment on her face. Seriously? Only six guys in total? She even allowed herself to be hit just to mix things up and it still felt kind of boring. Okay, she was not stupid enough to try the last one without a ballistic armor under her suit, but hey at least scaring shit out of two-bit thugs was some entertainment.

As she pondered her next step, she heard another explosion, and this time she actually felt the ground beneath her tremble. That must have been close. She pulled out cheap prepay phone.

...

Expression on Chochoł's face was reminiscent of someone who became a victim of really lame joke.

In a sense that's exactly what happened. He did found the entrance to Sasha's quarters as the thug told him... He just forgot to mention the sliding, metal door that stood in his way. What's more, there was no lock he could try to pick, nor a keypad to decipher. There was however a tiny light above indicating a reciever for a remote, like garage door. It seemed like even his universal lockpick won't help here. On the bright side, he wasn't dragging that unnoying bag all the way here for nothing.

Almost joyfully he started installing semtex explosives.

One deafening explosion later, the metal obstacle fell with a heavy clang, revealing an elongated antechamber, with multiple doors. Taking the first on the left, he found himself in bedroom. Even a cursory glance shown that Sasha's bedroom itself was bigger than his whole old flat. Feeling just a little pang of jealousy, he almost didn't felt a vibration in his pocket. That could be only one person.

Pulling the disposable phone from his pocket he opened it, accepting the call from his partner.

"Report."

"Do you have to be so formal?" Complained the voice on other side. "Anyway, all's clear, dandy and wrapped up on my end. I'm on the roof. I needed to shoo some pidgeons that intended to shit on your head on your way out."

"On the roof? How did you got there?"

"There's a tunnel connecting the barrack's basement with the mansion's basement. And the mansion has all the levels connected via spiral staircase. As I was running up I've heard you're having fun. You liked the soundtrack?"

Chochoł could downright hear her smile and just rolled his eyes while changing topic.

"I'm somewhere just below you. The first path on your way down. You can't miss a huge hole at the end."

"Be right there." Was the short answer before connection dropped.

Not even minute has passed, before he was again joined by his companion.

Strzyga gave him a once over, noticing the blood covering Chochoł's face and chest. Her own bloodied face lit up with another smile as she stated "We match!"

"Aren't we just the besties..." He deadpanned before adding. "Let's look up for something useful. Preferably information on his whereabouts, but anything can come in handy later."

"Oh, I know where he is." Strzyga commented suddenly, instantly gripping her friends attention.

"You do? Where? How do you know that?"

Strzyga hummed before answering. "He's in Bangkok. He's supposed to meet with a criminal group there to expand his branches further in Asia. They have too strong of a presence there, so he can't just bribe or bruteforce his way, hence he had to personally move his ass and negotiate." She explained. "As for where I know that from... The guy in monitor room was pretty well informed about many things. But I needed to resort to illicit practics of vaguely sexual nature..." She said in a teasing tone.

Chochoł's face and voice in turn, were unimpressed as he stated rather than asked "You nailed his ballsack to a chair."

"I nailed his ballsack to a chair." She confirmed, before hurriedly adding "But since he _did_ answered all my questions, I left him a hammer so he could pull it out."

"Did you untied him before that?"

For a moment there was a blank look on woman's face before the realisation kicked in. "Oh, I knew I forgot something!"

Chochoł just groaned.

The search around the bedroom, turned no results, despite flipping every possible element of furniture. Ok there _may_ have been a little spite in this. However this didn't change a fact it turned futile. The door they discovered in the back, led to a bathroom, which also held no secrets.

The next door on their way turned out to lead to some... Playroom? Entertainment room? In any case, there were column speakers, an expensive TV, and a well equipped mini bar.

Chochoł instantly took an expensive looking bottle from the shelf. But before he could even uncork it, the sudden shot shattered the bottle to pieces.

With a verry cross expression he looked at his partner who was holstering her gun.

"Pojebało cię?" (Polish: Are you fuckin nuts?) He asked.

"Yes." She answered with that unusually serious expression. "But that's beside the point. You're not drinking that."

"Oh pray tell me why not?" He sarcastically asked.

"Because..." Strzyga sighted "...half of the time when you get drunk, you're like an angry honey badger. The other half is pretty much the same, but you also get suicidialy dumb ideas."

Chochoł just growled in annoyance but did not denied. And after about aminute of a staring match, he finally relented.

"Oh fuck this. Let's just keep up the search."

Satsified, Strzyga smiled and both of them returned to tearing the place to pieces. Sadly without results, aside of discovery that Sasha had second, smaller bathroom here as well. Probably so he doesn't need to run to another room, when a snacks in front of TV give him diarrhea. It must be good to be ritch.

The door number three revealed a study behind. The rows of tightly packed bookshelves covered the wall opposite the entrance. Another door inside turned to be - you guessed it - a third bathroom.

Sadly, despite some decorative statues and huge persian carpet, the only furniture turned to be a mahogany desk with a cushioned chair. On the other hand, there was a sizeable landscape painting on the wall.

Without a second tought, Chochoł took it down, and was rewarded with a sight of an old type of safe. No keypad. Just old school bolt lock.

"Jackpot..."

"We still need to open it you know?" Strzyga commented, arms folded on her chest.

"That can be arranged." Answered her partner, almost gleefully pulling a final pack of semtex from the bag.

Only to earn an exasperated groan as the woman shoved him aside as she got closer to examine the lock.

"You can open that?"

"I don't know yet." Strzyga replied. "It's an old model. Probably for collector's purpose. Technically they could be cracked with sounds guidance, but without a stetoscope it will be hard even for me."

"Why would he keep that old junk though, instead of something more... You know... _Safe_?" Chochoł allowed his scepticism to trickle in, as he walked around the study, checking the books in the library behind the desk.

"Look at this from his perspective." Strzyga answered. "He have cameras, a labirynth at the main erntrance, a large force guarding the mansion, and heavily armored door his personal quarters. Why would he believe that someone will manage to break through all the way here? He's like an Dark Lord. All he needs is a hunch-backed, blindly obedient minion named Kukol."

"I killed something like that on the first floor..." Chochoł commented absentmindedly as he pulled a copy of Greek Myths.

"Havent seen this since high school..." He muttered.

"Quiet!" Surprised he turned his head to see his companion with her ear pressed to the metal.

"Shit." She finally said, pulling her head away from the safe. "Can't hear a thing. Either the doors are too thick, or material is too dense."

"So... What? We're blasting it anyway?" 

In response, Strzyga growled, glaring at the safe. "Not yet. I have one more trick."

With that, she marched to the bathroom and from the med box on the wall, she accuired a cotton wool and a roll of bandage.

Returning, she stuffed her ears with cotton, and two more wads up her nose. She wrapped bandage tightly around her eyes, blinding herself.

No sight, smell or hearing. That was as close to sensory deprivation as she could get here. Blindly touching, she found the safe dial.

Cracking old safes by sound is probably most well known method in pop culture. But there exist another one, much harder to master. Cracking by touch. What was once sound, must be detected by miniscule changes in tension and movement of the dial. Eliminating three of her senses, Strzyga increased her touch sensitivity, so she could detect even the slight vibrations of the lock. Spending months mastering that skill, even with her innate talent for learning, seemed like a waste of time in era where barely anyone would use the old models anymore. But she learned it for the sake of the tiny chance, they will discover some of the treasures lost during wartime. She did not expected however to find the use for it here. At least her time and work wasn't wasted.

Strzyga lost her sense of time, focused on delicate movement under her fingers until she finally felt the lock opening.

Taking off the blindfold and stuffing out of her ears and nose, she found her partner sitting on the chair, feet on desk, deep in lecture.

"You know? You could have made some token effort to look in other places as well..." She scolded.

At least he had decency to look ashamed as he closed the book, which turned to be thick thome of one of Karol May's series.

"Sorry. Didn't had much occasion to catch up on some reading, and you were stuck there for nearly two hours."

Strzyga just sighted. "No matter. Let's just check the loot."

"Ooohhh... This will come in handy." The woman cooed upon seeing at least a dozen thick stacks of cash.

"Must be his personal must-leave-the-country-now reserve." Her partner suggested, as he checked papers retrieved from the safe. "Seems to be accounting." He murmured. "He doesn't strike me as a type to do all this alone, so that may be a copy to check if someone is scamming him. But I wonder what's on this..." He kept mumbling to himself as he rose a pair of discs to his eyes, while his partner was loading her bag with money.

"All done!" Strzyga declared once she wiped the safe clean of cash.

"Great. We're getting out of here." Chochoł stuffed the papers and discs into his - now mostly empty - bag. "We're taking the discs to Mateusz in case they need decoding. After that... Were going to Bangkok."

...

It was an odd contrast - A sleek and shiny, red Dodge Viper parked among rundown warehouses and abandoned worker barracks. Well, once abandoned.

The cars owner, slightly balding, middle aged man, decked in full tuxedo as if he was about to attend a gala, was currently led by a pair of Gorgon's Head gangsters into the depths of defunct fish factory. Despite looking vastly out of place, he displayed no disomfort and actually appeared pretty at ease.

The path led them up some stairs and across the catwalk, above area that had been mostly cleared up from boxes and machines that could be moved. Apparently being repurposed for something like a scene or arena, most likely to accomodate live shows in the future. However his point of interest led in one of the office rooms where he was supposed to meet with people who managed this branch.

When one of the gangsters opened a door for him, he wasn't sure what he should expect. Maybe something more... professional? What he saw inside were two men, looking bored out of their tattooed skulls. The muscled one was reading some magazine with legs propped on the desk, while the other, with more slender build, was playing knife game at another.

To their credit, they gathered up pretty fluidly at his entrance.

"Ah, you must be the guest we were supposed to recieve today, mister..." The slender stated rather than asked, leaving only window for introduction open.

None the less the guest shown them the silver membership card that doubled as special credit card to very secured account.

"Hmm. Until we can establish some more trust, let's say Al will be fine for now." He answered.

"Very well." The lean man's tone suggested he couldn't care less if he introduced himself as Red Riding Hood.

"I'm called Basilisk and this is my co-manager, Catoblepas." He said pointing at the muscular man.

Only then he noticed distinction in the tattoos on their heads. One with what must have been snake scales named Basilisk, Catoblepas with bull hornes... With a gang called Gorgon's Head he started to see a pattern.

But he didn't gave it more tought. Instead he went straight to bussines.

"It sure is organized differently here. This was the first time I was asked to pay upfront, with the promise to choose whoever I want. Everywhere else we were allowed to see the merchindise first."

He commented.

"As you can see, were still in set up phase." Basilisk answered him. Al noticed that out of the two, he was the outspoken one apparently.

"We still lack software and hardware to accomodate the cards you use and any payment would have to be made with cash. That's actually no problem for _us_ if _you're_ willing to carry it around _here._ "

"I can see your point." Al agreed. Cash was convinient to have but at the same time this town seemed like it would lunge on you like a pack of coyotes for a few bucks in your pocket.

"Very well. Show me what you have."

And so they went. From the upper levels, all the way down to the sub level, that once housed most of storage and cold rooms. But now, without power they have been repurposed for crude cells, that held single prisioner each. Bound to chairs and or cuffed to pipes, often gagged. A small, uneven peepholes at eye level - probably burned with blow torch - were the only way of inspecting the captives. And what Al saw didn't look promising. Homeless of various age and gender. Dirty, unshaved and malnourished and - much to Al's disgust - oftentimes with soiled pants.

He turned disapproving gaze towards Basilisk.

"All this... Doesn't look worth the money I paid."

The Snake officer shrugged as he responded.

"As I said. We're just setting up. We don't have much now, but as we entrench ourselves more, our offer will expand. This town is a melting pot. Caucasian, asians, africans. Any age and profession almost at hands reach. With time we will be able to turn this place into downright mall." He boasted.

"You are our test customer so to speak. But I understand your disappointment, so let me show you some of our better merchindise."

This seemed to improve Al's mood a little as he followed Snake "managers" even further.

The cell they stopped in front of, was no different from what he previously seen, but the man that's been gagged and tied to a chair inside was definitely of higher class than the bums he was seeing till now. Dressed in nice brown suit, with dark blue shirt under and leather shoes that just barely started to gather dust, he looked more like an office worker or bussines man.

"That's new." Al admitted. "Who's that?"

Surprisingly it was Catoblepas who answered him this time.

"Former accountant of local Italian mafia. Tried to get smart with books and pocket something on the side. Once he got caught, we offered to make an example of him and Italians handed him down out of curiosity. We just had to promise that we send him back to them once were done, so they can... Evaluate our service."

As the explanation went, a change appeared in Al. He not just looked pleased... He looked and sounded positively giddy.

"A real life gangster? Fantastic! This... This I want! Where do you have tools?"

Basilisk smiled like a succesfull salesman of used cars.

"Unless you bring a specific tools with yourself, we have a basic selection here." He said opening a pair of lockers next to a cell door, that Al didn't paid attention to before.

Insides revealed a variety of tools. From simple kitchen knives, crowbar, classical baseball bat and the like, to a blowtorch and buzzsaw. Hell there was even neatly folded plastic bag. Selecting a baseball bat, Al turned towards his hosts.

"I'm ready. Open up."

With a smirk, Basilisk opened a simple bolt lock allowing him entrance and locked the door behind him.

Inside, the unluckily accountant started strugling and mumbling through the gag, which seemed to have no effect on Al, as he started talking, while circling around his pray, with a bat propped on his shoulder.

"You know... I always had weakness for cinema. I like to reenact scenes from my favourite movies... And now... You will help me realize my long time desire to channel Robert De Niro as Capone from 1987 Untouchables!" He exlaimed, delighted at the growing terror of his target.

And then he swung the bat at his head.

Outside, Catoblepas took his eye from the peephole and turned to Basilisk.

"He has no idea how it's done. This may take a while."

"Oh relax." The other Snake answered with an evil smirk. "He paid for it. Let him have his fun. Don't you see how happy he is?"

He chuckled, as the sounds of bashing and muffled screams filled the basement, blending in with sobs, cries, rattling of chains and scratching nails.

...

 **That would be it for now. Next chapter is barely a draft in mead for now so it may take a while again.**

 *** Gośka is diminutive of Małgorzata, Strzyga's real name in case someone forgot from chapter 1.**

 **** WIST - 94 came to serial production around 1998, maybe 1999. It's uncertain. But the late prototypes are from 1998. Chochoł could aquire one for field testing as a Spec-Ops.**

 ***** Guy from DBZ. Has third eye on the forhead. Yeah I know, lame pun.**

 **Chochoł seems to use two codenames apparently. Or one serves just a nickname for friends. Who knows...**

 **I also tried to shown up the Gorgon's Head operation in Roanapur as well as hint at some past events. I don't know if I did it satisfactory.**

 **Ok. That's all I can remember. Bye.**


	5. Chapter 5

**It's finally out! No one but one person waited for this anyway... Not that I really mind. I really have no exuse for the time it took me to complete, other than severe writer's block that held me for months. If you notice a drop in quality, it can be also blamed on that as i forced myself to write, just to complete it sometime this decade.**

 **It's still sounded better in my head, but i hope it's entertaining enough to be passable.**

 **(^3^)**

 **/||||||\**

For a while, the only sound heard in the room, was a constant hum of cooling fan, key tapping and occasional click of a mouse. Ok. An irritatted swear word here and there also slipped in.

However if not for the soft carpet, the sound of Chochoł pacing back and forth for the last few hours, would drove everyone insane.

Well, the only sane person in the room at least.

Mateusz Bielski, known among friends as Mati, turned from computer screen towards one of said friends.

"Stefan, would you give it a rest? This will not speed up the program, you know?" He asked sarcastically. The lisp in his speech barely detectable.

It took him a second to realize that his name was called. Chochoł was more used to go by his nickname this days. Still, he did stop on the spot and looked at Mati.

He was over ten years older, but you wouldn't be able to exactly tell this, due to bushy beard that he had grown. That combined with the long hair he also started wearing, didn't left much of his skin exposed, making him look almost like a cartoonish spirit of woods. You would expect squirrels and birds to start flying out of that hairy bush at any moment.

Add to that the huge sunglasses that he wore, making him look like a giant hairy fly, and the final effect would be at least confusion inducing.

Only in the comfort of his own home, or at least among few trusted people, he allowed himself to take off that riduculous accessory. Then, he would show the world a weary gaze, coming from the faded blue eyes. The stare that seemed always half lidded as if the skin around was an ill fitted mask.

 _"Because that's exactly that."_ Chochoł thought with a momentary spike of white hot fury.

It took thousands of dollars, and a specialist from US to make that transplant. And it still was not even close to that kind face, he remembered from his younger days. It was merely improvement from that melted horror, caused by lye exposure.

To bad he could do nothing about Mati's missing arm.

"Sorry." Chochoł finally said. "I just feel like with each passing second, I'm not doing something, my chances are slipping away. Like I'm constantly on the clock and every moment I'm not on the move can make me be too late. Late for what, I can't even tell. I just... I've been restless for the last week." He admitted.

At last he switched to civilain clothes. Simple jeans and a Black T-shirt, that revealed his muscular but lean arms. Still, he usually opted to wear long sleeves outside, to hide the array of scars on them. While the crisscrossing lines from warious cuts could be explained by any job that utilized blades, the unmistakable bullet wound scars, would draw too much attention.

He could also finally wash his face, from both camouflage paint and blood. The visage underneath the dirt, turned out to be clean shaved, diamond shaped face with thin lips, marred however by vertical scar running across them near the lips' left edge. The nose was narrow and straight, and the amber eyes seemed to give almost yellow glow, like those of a wolf. At the top of his head the mop of chin lenght, black hair could be seen. Thin and chunky, they looked almost like a quills of a calm porcupine.

"Why don't you go help Gośka in the kitchen? She's awfuly long there for making a sandwitch... And suspiciously quiet." Mati suggested.

Chochoł just scoffed.

"She's not _that_ irresponsible."

Mateusz gave his friend a "you're serious?" look before he spoke "The last time she got out of sight in there, she dismantled my kitchen sink to look for Mario."

"Oh... Yeah... Back then..." Chochoł actually looked embarassed and stared down at his shoes. "My bad. I was pretty sure she was completly down from her acid trip."

Surprisingly, Mateusz started to chuckle. "This should probably not amuse me... But remember the time she got arrested in States? She stole a pickup truck in Texas, somehow loaded a horse carcass on it, hot glued a clarnet to it's head and managed to ride all the way to _Maine_ to search for the Pet Sematary. Apparently she wanted to revive a unicorn."

Chochoł face palmed, but even he couldn't stop a chuckles that came out. "Oh fuck yes. Perun looked ready to skin her alive for that one. Still we had to break her out and destroy evidence that she ever was there... Thanks for allowing us to use your computer for additional processing power. Erasing files from police systems is always annoying, especially on a short notice."

The atmosfere suddenly felt lighter, as if the scars on both of them weren't there. It felt good to simply chat fith an old friend like this.

"Sorry for dragging you into our matters back then." Chochoł smiled apologetically.

Mateusz just shrugged. "Hey, no one came to put me in cuffs, so I guess you did a good job with staying invisible. No harm done. Besides... It's nice to be on good terms with special forces... Or whatever you're supposed to be."

The nostalgic reminiscencence was interrupted by Strzyga returning. She had to drop her racer suit in favour of grey baggy pants and a green hoodie, so she wouldn't stand out that much in the middle of the town, but indoors she also took off the latter, leaving her only in beige tank top.

In one hand, she held a sandwich that would made Scooby and Shaggy proud, packed with so much ingridients, she had to tie it with a string.

The other hand was waving with the accounting books, that they recovered from the mansion.

"Guh nuh ghas!" She mumbled with her mouth full, before swallowing so she could continue. "I was checking Sasha's books and found something interesting. In order to run his operations, Sasha needs secure locations. And the easiest way for a rich man to have them, is to buy private properties. But!" She dramatically stopped, only to take another bite of sandwich. Thankfully she swallowd this time before she resumed her speech. "But, for the land he owns, the taxes must be paid. I'm not an expert in accounting but this little book..." She said while again waiving the deocmuants "...has told me how much he paid for his properties and what they are... And where."

As the recognition dawned on both men, Chochoł's face split in predatorial grin. "We will know which places to raid..." He concluded.

"At least partially." Strzyga admitted, dimming his mood a little. "It's very possible that some of his illegal operations, had been outsourced or given to his officers and agents to run. In that case they may not appear in the books."

"Still..." Chochoł didn't seem that much perturbated by the imperfection. "It will save us heaps of time, and we can always interrogate his goons. Good job." He said in an uncharacteristic display of playfulness he ruffled his partner's hair.

"Hey, watch it!" She protested grabbing his hand, but couldn't keep herself from beaming. Thankfully for her, it was mostly hidden by a sandwich she had to shove in her mouth, to free her own hand so she could bat at her friend's limb.

"Speaking of time..." Chochoł stopped messing with his partner and turned to Mati. "How much longer will it take?"

Mateusz rolled his eyes and returned to the screen.

"Decoding is in over seventy percent complete. If you're so impatient, I can tell you what I have for now."

"That would be appreciated." Chochoł agreed and his old friend pulled out some windows on the front of the screen. Sadly, Chochoł couldn't understand any of it. He didn't had enough levels in "geek" apparently. Thankfully, Mati wasn't expecting him to.

"I'm almost completly sure" Mateusz started "that this is some form of banking software."

"Banking software?"

"Yes. Or at least a software designed for transfers from one account to another. Specifically it's to secure and hide the transfers by misdirection, similiar to how deep web operates." One-armed man explained.

"Additionally, do you see that numbers?" He asked, pointing out at quite long digital sequences, placed in columns. "I believe, those are credit cards. Credit cards that operate outside of regular banks, and are compatibile only with this software."

"It's a list." Chochoł realized. "List of Sasha's clients and club members."

"This is most likely explanation." Mateusz agreed. "And once the decoding is complete, I should be able to access their data. Names, adresses, probably photographs. Sasha certainly had to keep this as an insurance, in case they lose their credibility."

Expression of almost maniacal glee appeared on Chochoł's face.

"We'll certainly make good use of that insurance, indeed..."

Now he know, who and where. All that's was left now was to mop up.

But there was so many of them...

He had to prioritize.

Taking a breath to clear his mind from sudden elation, he turned to his partner.

"As soon as the files are decoded, I'm taking the truck and going back to Slovakia to cauterize the rest of that filth there."

Strzyga opened her mouth in obvious protest at being excluded, but Chochoł pointed at her interjected before she could speak.

"I need you, to take care of logistics. Organize transport to Thailand and decide wheter we can smuggle our weapons or do we need to reequip on the spot. Check if there are some of our hidden supply depots in Thailand. The team operated quite long before we joined and we may have overlooked some older points. Basically, you're the only one I can ask for this and you're better at long term organization than me."

He finished on one breath, just to make sure that his partner won't interupt him. Strzyga however seemed to take this seriously as she nodded her head and a happy smile appeared on her face.

Taking a second to realize just what ideas are hatching in her head, Chochoł had to burst her bubble.

"And no. You're not allowed to steal a fighter jet. We're not in Egypt."

"Uh fine..." Young woman pouted. "Spoilsport."

And then Strzyga got a _brilliant_ idea.

...

"That's certainly an... Interesting effect."

Ronnie "The Jaws" mused as he poked the soft mass with a tip of his shoe. Surprisingly it stayed clean.

"Out of curiosity... What did you _do_ to him?" Italian mafia boss turned his question to Catoblepas.

The Co-leader of Gorgon's Head shrugged and chuckled as he replied. "We let an avid cinema fan, have a go at him with baseball bat."

This just earned him more questioning stare from Ronnie, causing the Snake to roll his eyes and elaborate.

"A guy that styled himself after Al Capone from Untachables, tried to roleplay the scene from the movie. In the end he got so over eager, he just kept whacking his head until he run out of breath. We hosed down the blood from the corpse, bleached the rest and this was the result." He said pointing with his chin, towards dead guy, whose head resembled an anti stress squishy.

"Why bothering with all the cleaning? If you want your trunk clean, just wrap the body in plastic." Ronnie suggested.

"Ah, but you see it's not about dirtying trunk..."

Catoblepas voice suddenly became more excited. Kinda like a geek preparing to explain his hobby. Ronnie's men standing few meters away, found that mildly creepy.

"... It's about visuals. You wanted this guy to send a message right? So here's the thing." He said. "Blood obscures. Once you remove it, the full extense of damage becomes visible. And it unnerves people. It's especially true for deformations, such as in this case." Catoblepas pointed to the massacred face for emphasis. "It's a very psychological effect. People know how other people should look like, and the twisted image produces a sensation of wrongness. It's not blood, but rather that knowledge that human body should not do this, sends the chills down the people's spines."

Catoblepas kneeled by the former accountants head and putting his hand on it, he squeezed. The pulverized skull, turned into a mass of bone fragments, gave in, changing shape almost like plasticine. Mangled face bulged in other places, further twisting a grotesque visage.

By now, even Ronnie looked a bit green.

"Or..." Catoblepas finalized as he got up. "You can tear the body to pieces, skin it, paint the room with the blood and hang body parts on meat hooks. That works as well, but it's harder to transport." He shrugged.

Ronnie stood silent for a moment, apparently considering his option before he made a decision.

"As much as I have to admit it's impressive... The thing is that simple bullet is enough to make our point." He observed.

"It's extremely rare when we run on to someone who requires such extreme specialistic approach. Not to mention that constantly scaring people with another group, doesn't paint _us_ as strong enough to deal with our shit." Ronnie admitted.

Catoblepas didn't like where this conversation was going, still he had to give it to the man. Despite looking like and overgrown kid with that bracers, Ronnie _knew_ how to run his organization.

He didn't interrupt the Italian however. That would reek of desperation and that's never something you want to show in bussiness, especially of criminal variety.

Thus, Ronnie continued without a hitch. "However I get that you need... "Live ware" for your operations, so let's compromise." He suggested with a smile. "In case we do run onto some hard nut to crack, we can, pass it to you for a mere petty penny... Let's say, five percent. You will milk much more out of them anyway. So. What do you say?" Ronnie finnished with almost child like smile. In that situation, that must have looked pretty disturbing from outside perspective.

Catoblepas however, paid no mind to such details. Instead he was mulling over the offer and in anoyance, kept noticing that he had no valid counter offer.

Italians had established presence in this town, they _were_ solidly organized and could deal with most opposition and internal affairs, without the Boogeyman in the form of Gorgon's Head. They really didn't _needed_ them, and so the offer was almost like a pity from them.

Catoblepas could imagine the frothing rage the rank and file Snakes would erupt into, when approached with such proposition, and was silently glad that his own entourage stood far enough to miss the content of the talks.

As for himself however, there were a reasons he was part of the "Evil Eye" trinity that led the organization, and blind rage wasn't one of them.

They may not need Gorgon's Head, but the opposite is also true - Gorgon's Head din't need Italians to aquire merchandise. Their assistance merely made it easier to get a running start for operation's here.

And running start they got. The body that lied at their feet was satysfying advertisement for Sasha's inner circle.

In the end it cost them nothing. Ronnie's offer, while far from perfect, was still convinient to speed things up. While they failed to aquire free merchandise thrown their way, Catoblepas was convinced they at least gained a reliable if overpriced middle man for higher quality goods. Quite useful in their climb on Roanapur bussiness ladder.

"I can see your point." Catoblepas stated. "I can't say I'm thrilled by the outcome, but I'm willing to accept it."

"Im glad you see it my way." Ronnie said, smiling brightly. With those braces and happy disposition, he looked almost child like. It was easy to forget, that he was one of the "kings" of Roanapur and commanded the third largest force in the town.

Catoblepas was careful to not make that mistake.

"Ok, boys! Put the stiff in the trunk!" The Italian boss waved at his subordinates, to take the corpse. Soon it was loaded to the trunk, and Ronnie took his place on the backseat. "Hope to make some good bussiness with you again." He shouted, before the car drove away.

The horned man stood, looking after departing vehicle, until one of his henchmen approached.

"Sir Catoblepas?"

Catoblepas turned towards his men as he spoke. "Take the car and go back. My ride will be here shortly."

"Yes, sir." The Snake nodded smartly, before taking the car with signature cobra on the hood, that they originally brough the corpse in, and drove away as per ordered.

The man didn't have to wait long. Fifteen minutes later, familiar silhuette of the Ford Scorpio appeared on the abandoned parking lot, with none other but Basilisk at the driver's seat.

Without even being called, Catoblepas slipped in, and released a tired sight.

"How did it go?" Basilisk asked without taking eyes of the road, at which his partner snorted.

"As succesfull as one could expect. They were satisfied for a one time performance, but are in no hurry to become a suppliers. They actually want a cut whenever they _do_ decide to send someone."

The driver released a mocking chuckle. "Bussiness... Bussiness never changes."

"How it went on your end?" Catoblepas inquired in turn, at wich the lankier of the two smiled.

"Actually... Colombians jumped in with both feet. They are more than happy to throw merchandise our way."

The bull-man thrown his arms up in exasperation. "How the hell do you do this?"

At that, Basilisk smile became slightly contemptous "The funny thing about Colombians is that, as much as they like to pose as one of the four kings of this town, they are the bottom of that balance. They have the least men, the least firepower in general and are more scattered. They are almost a patchwork, and they make up for that by connecting with other groups, like FARC for example or now with us. What's more, both their numbers and reputation took a severe hit in recent months as they have had their asses handed to them by... Check this out..." He snorted. " _Maids_ of all people."

That made Catoblepas blink owlishly. "Maids as in _maids_? The tea serving, frilly dressed fetish fuel?"

"Oh yes, indeed." Chuckled the more snaky of the two Snakes. "Granted, there are words that they were some kind of soldiers or agents in maid get up, but the impression remained, and Colombians are not happy about it. They are more than happy to rebuild some of that respect with the terror we may provide." He chuckled again as he spoke his nexct thought. "And considering they are rather prone to anger and butthurt, I suspect will be getting quite a lot from them and soon."

"Good..." His partner surmised. "That's good..."

...

Rock decided, that it was an emotionally draining day, and it was just a little before 5 PM. Well, at least he wasn't up on the deck, doging gunfire this time.

Stressful assignements were par for the course for the company, but rarely they came with such a wierd emotional swing for him.

First, he had internal freak out, when Dutch informed them, that they got a job for Gorgon's Head, and with their reputation, Rock could suspect what they would have to transport. If he even ignored his squeamishness at morality of human trafficing, the total clusterfuck that was their job with Garcia was handing above his head like a grim reminder, that yes, there are absurdly vicuous and relentless monsters out there that may take issue with thier work ethic. Yes. Even if Revy was an absurdly skilled counter-monster on their side.

Therefore, he was immensly relieved when was assured that they will not be participating in any form of kidnapping or illegal detention, and just before he could ask, Dutch confirmed that they won't be transporting any killers this time either. With the certainty that none of his personal demons will be provoked today, Rock was almost relaxed when they were speeding towards their destinated cargo.

And then Dutch duped him into scuba diving with Revy again. While nowhere near the horrors he suffered from his encounter with Gretel or Yukio's suicide, his time in sunken submarine was not a happy memory. The awarness that their job is much simpler and involves merely lifting a sunken cargo, took a severe burden off his shoulders.

You see, Gorgon's Head was primarily and urban organization, and one that stayed on land for vast majority of their operations. They weren't quite prepared for shift to Roanapoor, that heavily relied on various form of navy for it's bussiness. The Snakes managed to procure one speed boat, and attemtpted to transport their cargo strapped to a dinghy on tug. It would actually worked if the waters here, weren't infested with pirates. Seeing an easy target a group of upstarts from one of the islands, tried to make a name for themselves. Turns out that the Snakes bite much harder than anticipated. The pirates with their two boats were wiped out of the water, but in the scuffle, the dinghy got full of holes and sunk with the cargo. The speed boat wasn't faring much better, and while they limped back to base, they had no way of retrieving their lose. That's were the Lagoon Company entered the stage.

However there was a problem... They didn't arrive first. Either the pirates send reinforcements, or a word got out and a group of opportunists shown up to scavenge. Either way, it forced them to sick Revy on the rivals. Not that she complained.

Eliminating all the vultures, managed to but them some time to actually dive and locate the cargo. It turned out to be a big elongated box, that could easly fit a human or two. However Dutch assured that no, they won't be kidnapping anyone. The problem is even their boss was not privy what actually was inside. Even if they were lied to and there were was someone in the box, no one would survive so long underwater. They strapped up a self inflating baloons to the box, and lifted it up to surface, where the crane they had to install for that job, loaded the package on the deck. Just in time for next wave of no name pirates to arrive and open fire.

But getting shot at while getting away? That was almost normal for him by now.

...

Up on the deck, the sound of gunfire and occasional explosions was almost as consistent as roar of engines. Out of the seven boats that went after them, only five remained. Revy couldn't recognize any of the markings, or tell tale signs of any known group. Not that she cared at the moment. Right now, the shootout was a welcomed occasion. It gave her time to uniwnd and release a pent up anger.

First, those Snake bastards denied her sleep with their stink in the air. Then after getting into fight with them for that very reason, only she got arrested and chewed up by Dutch. And now, they had the nerve to hire them.

Working for yesterday enemies was actually pretty common, but just because it fit in Roanapur's bussines ethics, doesn't mean Revy's will be happy about it.

The bullet hail, on the other hand, was a familiar territory. The possibility to burn away frustration, by making some other shmucks miserable. And dead.

Putting down Gepard M3, she reached for her favourite Cutlasses. It's not like she run out of ammo for the sniper rifle, but why waste more expensive ammo on bastards with all the self preservation of lemmings, when berettas should be enough. She might also want to get a little bit more close and personal... Just a little.

With a savage smile, she leaned from behind her cover, and unleashed a barage at the lead boat's steering cabin. Predictibly, the boat driver was riddled with bullets, and as his body slumped to the right, it dragged a steering wheel with it, causing it swerve sharply, colliding with a boat just to it's right, and pushing it in the way of a third boat that followed them as the rightmost point of a wedge formation. The driver apparently having a decent reflexes, managed to steer away from crashing into the boats... But he made up for that, by running into a smal rock, jutting out of the water, and tearing open a gash in his vessel's side, that quickly started to fill with water.

It was unlikely that either of those boats will catch up to them. That left only two...

When one get to think about it, the most common cause of death in Roanapur, was lack of common sense. The lethal mix of bravado, missing self preservation and overestimation of one's abilities, led people of tropical sin city and surrounding areas, to make very poor life decisions. Rock could probably explain that in detail, but Revy wasn't the person to dwell on difficult words and analysys. She just knew that some people around her were incureable idiots, and rolled with it. It actually made things so much easier for her.

Therefore, when even after two thirds of their force have been eliminated by a single woman, the pirates kept on chasing them, Revy knew that she is indeed, dealing with overconfident idiots.

In that case, she could show off a little.

Cutlasses drawn, the gunwoman jumped from behind her cover, and after few pot shots to keep the enemy crew occupied, she rushed across the deck, towards Lagoon's edge, where she leaped towards one of the pursuing boats.

Jumping from one boat towards another, moving at high speed is definitely not something a normal, sane person or a strategist, ever advised.

Too bad for enemies, that Revy was neither "normal" and just questionably sane.

With the smaller boat moving towards her, the seemingly impossible distance decreased sharply.

Barely making it, the gunwoman landed heavily and immidietly went into almost painful roll, that did nothing to wipe a self satisfied smile from her face. When it came to gunfights, she was awesome and she knew that. The pirate crew, had no time to pick up jaws from the floor, before the closest one turned into Rudolf, with a bullet from Cutlass ripping a blood red hole where his nose once been.

His two pals, finally get their bearings and started taking aim with their SMG, but with almost mocking ease, Revy shot at their hands. Bullets tearing off their fingers, made it impossible to even think about pulling the triggers. Sure, she _could_ just shoot them, but this was going almost pathetically easily, so she could entertain herself a little. Did she got better over the years or does the rest of the world just got dumber?

Or maybe she was getting cocky and asking to get killed, as series from the last boat hit the wall next to her by the inches. They also managed to hit one of their own crippled pals in the back. That's a level of lousy shooting she hadn't seen in a while.

This however, brough her back to reality, where she wasn't bulletproof. And being done by this assholes, would be really humilating way to die. Shooting down the the last standing cripple, she dove into the cabin. One would expect, for a gunshots and screams and cursing of his partners, would be enough for the last pirate to actually drop the controls and pay attention. But no. It was only after Revy barged in, he started turning her way. He didn't even managed to rise a gun, before his skul got new breathing hole.

As his body slumped down, the boat started to shake. With no one to steer it, the old vessel began to get off course.

While it was easy to forget, Revy _was_ a sailor and knew how to drive a boat. It was just that she never really needed to, Dutch would let her drive his pride and joy anyway.

Stepping over a dead body, she grabbed the controls, and made the tremors stop. However with a curse, she was forced to duck, as windows exploded with a hail of bullets from the last boat.

The gunwoman lost her patience and good mood. Skewing sharply to the right, she braced herself for impact, as she set the boat on a collision course with the last vessel.

Revy grit her teeth, when with deafening screech, everything shook as the boats collided at nearly perpendicular angle. However it wasnt the crash itself that the temperamental gunslinger was paying attention to. At the exact moment of hit, the gunfire from the enemy stopped. Dashing out of the cabin, she run towards the bow and jumping from there and over the port of the enemy boat, she boarded the final vessel. She was greeted by the expected sight of pirates that tried to pick themselves from the ground, where the collision thrown them. So adamant to stop her boat by shooting, they forgone grabbing anything to brace themselves fort impact, and were now paying the price, as Revy gunned them down like dogs, before they even managed to regain their balance or pick up guns fallen from their hands.

Finally everything was silent. When Ravy made her way to the cabin, Lagoon already more than doubled the distance from her pursuers. Grabbing the radio, Revvy fiddled a bit controls until she found Lagoon's frequency.

"All clear Dutch. Mind coming back for me? I don't wanna go all the way back in this junk."

As the torpedo boat turned around, Revy pulled out a cigarette, deciding she deserved a victory smoke.

...

 _"All things considered, it was pretty clean job."_ Were Rock's thoughts, as a crane put down their cargo on the pier. Originally, the former salaryman was expecting to be more nervous around Gorgon's Head members, known for being vicously unstable and dealing in the darker parts of the underwold bussiness than even most of Roanapur.

However now, as a bunch of tattooed thugs checked the box for damage, and their commanding officer - for lack of better term - was meticulously filling paperwork, Rock felt no more stressed than on any of the jobs. He also had to admit, that their actual employer for this gig, looked a bit out of place among the scarred, often bare chested and menacing men he was commanding.

For one, he was rather diminutive. Actually not much taller than Miss Sawyer. He had his head shaved clean and a strange, almost leafy pattern, separated by some kind of ridge down the middle, was tattooed on his scalp. There were some lines tattoed on his face as well as two dots placed on his nose... And was that a _ballsack_ tattooed on his neck?

His clothes, were almost perfect reflection of Rock's own. Highly polished shoes, slacks and white shirt ith a tie. The main difference however, was that he was also wearing a lab coat of all things.

"All done." The man declared, handing back the clipboard, before he chuckled. "One would think that being criminals and all that, we would have dropped the forms by now, but no. We still fill up the papers like a good bussinessmen. Wheter you trade pigs or men, both are equally reduced to pounds of meat that needs to be catalogued and properly archivized. Shows how rotten mankind really is..." He mused.

Before Rock could even decide wheter to answer that, he took a glimpse at the signature. It simply read _"Cockatrice."_

And at that moment Rock felt a bit silly for not figuring it out earlier. The leaf-like patterns of the tattoo, were actually feathers. The ridge was a comb, and the man's nose was stylised for a beak, with two dots being bird nostrils. Lastly, what he embarassingly took for a ballsack was actually a pair of wattles. His face was supposed to resemble a rooster.

Meanwhile, Cockatrice passed him by and joined his henchmen by the box.

"Alright! Stop prodding it and start unpacking. It's not the wood I'm interested in."

At his call, the Snakes, grabbed crowbars and began dismantling the long wooden crate. As the planks fell away, a dull, grey metal was exposed and soon, what Rock realized was some kind of a freezer, has been revealed.

With downright impatient haste, the man in labcoat, opened the ice box. It's contents actually surprised the negotiator. Truth to be told, he was expecting bags with organs. Instead, lying in a slightly melted ice, was a man.

Well, a corpse of one.

Most peculiar was the fact, it was a native american. Rock couldn't remember the last time he had seen one, if ever. There weren't that numerous and mostly stayed in States or Mexico. Seeing one all the way in Asia, even if a dead one, was quite unexpected.

Aside from that, he was powerfully build. With strongly defined muscles, thick arms and legs and broad chest.

His body also carried shocking multitude of scars. Slashes, punctures, burn marks here and there, tough nothing close to Balalaika's. His chest alone, bared several gunshot marks. However... All of them were relatively old and healed. Rock couldn't notice any wound that he would call lethal. Actually, he couldn't see any wound, period.

The man also looked too young for a heart attack... His mind was torn away from morbid territory, by Revy's silent whistle.

"Nice log."

Processing the comment, he instinctively looked at the mans manhood, impressive even post mortem and shrunken from cold. This of course caused his manly instincts to kick in and make him cringe. Something that Revy welcomed with a snicker, that only got worse as he thrown her dirty look.

Benny just close his eyes and lightly shook his head in resignation, while Dutch stoically ignored the antics of his subordinates, but it didn't escape the notice of Cockatrice.

"Ah, I see you're interested in the specimen." The man in the lab coat spoke, with sudden cheerfulness in his voice.

Dutch, who stayed mostly quiet during the exchange, chose this moment to speak.

"It's usually against our policy, to get too curious about the cargo, unless it's vital to the job and the level of threat we face. That being the case... Me and my crew are not gonna come down with a bad case of Ebola or Antrax any time soon, are we?"

This time Rock didn't even try to hide the freaked out expression on his face. The grimace being mirrored by Benny and Revy confirmed, that his crewmates hadn't considered that angle either.

Their mood was not improved by Cockatrice smiling and sounding damn excited as he answered.

"Actually... That's what I'm trying to find out. You see, that guy over here..." He said nodding at the corpse. "Was one of our best pit fighters. Certainly our most valuable one."

He revealed.

"Underground fighting rings, just like any legal combat event, are spectatoral sport. You need to capture the audience. The more people comes, the more bets are made. The more excited they are, the higher the sums they bet."

That was something Rock understood. Entertainment, wheter legal or not, relied on the same principles - customer demand and satisfaction. Despite rather grim setting, he was getting quite curious now. Or maybe it's just that the "feathered" Snake's enthusiasm was infectious.

"They guy you brought us, was a real crowd pleaser. He claimed to be immortal. They say that he was once shot in the head and came back kicking a few months later. He certainly intended to make that impression on the ring." The man in lab coat kept explaining. "During the fight he purposefuly allowed himself to be trashed first. With knives, gas pipes, baseball bats... Just to show off how inhumanly tough he was. And only after he was bruised and bleeding, he retaliated and crushed his opponent. Public loved that. They were almost throwing money at us, whenever he showed up for a fight."

Rock could hear a faint impressed "Damn." coming from Revy's direction, however he personally considered it to be suicidial and reckless. But he already noticed, that at least half a people in Roanapur were like that. It was probably common in underworld.

Cockatrice, still on the roll, wen't on with exposition.

"Then, one day, he shown up for battle like usual. But this time, the moment he stepped into the ring and streched... He fell down. And that was it. The crowd was in uproar of course. The body was checked for wounds, but nothing was found. There was no indication of sickness either. No cough or sneeze at all. The poison was suspected, but I know not of poison that kills at a moments notice, without any prior symptoms. So as you see, our gold goose, kicked the bucket for no apparent reason. I requested the body to be discreetly delivered to me, so I could personally investigate, what finally did in our immortal gladiator."

Cockatrice finished the explanation, before adressing Dutch specifically. "So as to your concern, I don't think anything contagious was involved. Otherwise we would heard about mass deaths from spectators by now. Still, it hit our pocket severly so you can understand how important the answer is for us."

"Of course." Dutch agreed without further elaboration. That was far more info dump than he expected. Their client proved to be quite a chatterbox when right buttons were pressed.

"I guess, that concludes our bussiness for today." Cockatrice stated, while slamming down freezer's door. However a moment later, he made a sound similiar to gasp, as if he remembered something.

"Oh, I've also been informed that yesterday, your subordinate provoked a scene with my collegue, and some of our men had been shot. Do, try to keep her from doing that. It's bad for bussiness."

Rock felt himself growing tense at the information, but somehow Cockatrice's tone seemed unfit for the situation. It carried no threat, like Shenghua liked to use and no false pleasantry like Balalaika's before she screwed someone. The man in labcoat sounded almost... Absent. Like the whole incident was a mere footnote for him.

"It has been adressed." Duthc stated simply, while Revy huffed and scowled.

The Snake officer merely hummed in response, apparently already focused on making sure the cargo was properly transported,

Taking that as a que they're done here, Duth gave them signal to return. Something Rock invited gladly. However whatever plans he may had for the day, were forcibly changed, as he felt Revy dragging him, no doubt, to end up in Yellow Flag...

...

Looking left - grey concrete walls. Looking right - the same. Looking down - Tiles of grey concrete.

Looking up - Sky, grey like concrete. Old, ugly houses, stqueezed shoulder to shoulder between slightly newer but equally ugly apartment buildings, formed a square of enclosed space with iron, oversized, double doors leading to the street.

But it was fine.

Kid his age could be perfectly content with a backyard stuck in a concrete cube, as long as he wasn't alone. The neighbours were old and grumpy, but the kids were nice. The fact that the girls outnumbered boys about four to one, went unnoticed. So he played the so called "girly games" with them, like jumping rope or jumping rubber, without being none the wiser.

The rectangle of light in the infinite gray, with a smiling, bespectacled figure standing there, promised warmth in the world of dirt and chipped concrete that surrounded him. So he waved his friends goodbeye and run towards that light. The ground was uneven, so he tripped and fell,

When he got up

 _h_ I _S_ BO **dY** Ac Hed from bruises and exertion. He could barely notice the scent and sounds of the forest with each breath burning in his lungs and blood pounding in his ears.

The world around him had dreamlike, nightmarish quality. The brain having troubles processing or accepting reality, with only panicked voice in the back of his head urging him to move, or something horrible will happen.

He couldn't recall the exact moment of pulling the trigger. His bones rattled, and the recoil of a gun held by inexperienced hands, sprained his wrist. The searing pain was almost enough to knock him out of his trance, but the sight of a body falling to the ground, bound him even tighter in his daze, refusing to accept reality where he just killed someone.

Gun unconsciously still held in rigid grip, till his knuckles turned white. In lunatic confusion, he pushed his abused body further. Circling the dead body and running further into the forest, towards the faint light. Towards the center of hell.

...

Stefan couldn'\t say that his eyes snapped open. His return to awarness was slow, like pulling oneself from the swamp. In a way that was good. It meant that there was no thread that would sent his instincts into instant vigil.

Then he heard Strzyga's voice in his ears.

"You know? Some people look cute when they sleep. You look like you're debating method of execution."

Ah, that's right. They were on their way to Thailand. He looked left, at his partner, who was now humming to herself, controls comfortably in her grip.

"It's a single player fun." Chochoł quipped back, before looking through the window and chancging topic. "How far did we got?"

"Actually, we're nearing Thailand's air boarder." The white woman answered, with voice far to chipper to be natural. Chochoł only stared incredously. "That actually worked?"

Strzyga snorted and replied with audiable smugness. "I told you it's a foolproof plan. I'm a master of camouflage after all."

At that, the man actually facepalmed. Wheter at his companion's delusions or at mankinds stupidity, he couldn't exactly tell. For all intents and purposes, Strzyga's plan seemed to be working but still...

"The point of camouflage is to be less noticable... What exactly is discreet at disguising our transport as the _Papal Chopper?!"_

Indeed. Strzyga managed to track down and recover the old Mi-8 that their team used in the past, but their boss kept locked away exactly to keep Strzyga away from "borrowing" it for her personal fun time.

However with the group disbanded, no one was left to keep tabs on the machine, leaving Strzyga free to search for the hidden hangar, and eventually lay her hands on the forbidden fruit.

Wheter by hidden genious, madness or drug induced creativity, Strzyga could come up with outlandish ideas. Paintig Mi-8 in a pattern of Jean Paul II's official helicopter, must have been clearly drugs fault in Chochoł's opinion. The argument that "no one takes Vatican seriously" was hairbrained at best The argument that "no one takes Vatican seriously" was hairbrained at best, and the print out of Vatican's coat of arms duct taped to the side fooled no one.

And yet, he _still_ went along with her plan. Because no matter how risky and obvious, her plans were working. Maybe it was so called "refuge in audiacity", but it made the job done.

Once again, putting trust in his partner, he agreed to try her approach. And lo and behold, once again it worked out, despite the insane nature of the concept.

As if guessing his thoughts, Strzyga spoke from her seat. "The benefit of having a pope, known for his pilgrimiges all over the world, is that no one questions his transport passing by. By the time someone decides that maybe they should bother and confirm authenticy, we will be long on the ground and out of sight. It's always like this. Humans don't question the obvious, even if the obvious may be wrong."

At that, Chochoł chukled fondly. "It's easy to forget, how smart you actually are."

Strzyga almost preened at the praise "Hell yes, I am."

And then a second later - "What do you mean _easy_ to forget?"

Chochoł chukled again and Strzyga pouted, as they moved ever closer to their target.

 **...**

 **That's all for now. After all this waiting it probably feels like scraps so I apologize for that. I managed to squeeze some new content here. We finally have the last leader of Gorgon's Head revealed and some hints about Chochoł's past. I also finally revealed his name. It's Stefan - in case you missed it, since it pops up around twice in whole chapter. And I guess that's it. The rest was just some filler waste of space, but I hope it helped to kill some time on the can XD**

 **I'll keep to try and finish the story, but again, I have no idea when the next chapter will be done, so don't hold your breath.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Finally! I'm finished with the chapter. It was like going through the funnel. At first it was an easy slide, but at the very end I had to push my brain with a plunger to proceed.**

 **Don't rise you hopes about the lenght. It's mostly recap and some boring exposition that I needed to shove somewhere. Also I probably botched some historic parts. Subscribe it to AU or Artistic license please... .**

 **BigC, you may also regonize certain scene that I've shown you once, but reworked here.**

 **I also stopped underlining the speech in foreign langages. Too much hassle, and it doesn't made much difference. In the future, I'll just point out the parts where different languages are used in the same scene or have actual importance.**

 **(^3^)**

 **/||||||\**

It's not a secret that nearly every cop, whose duty involves more than sticking tickets behind wipers, wishes for an important case. A possibility to prove oneself and climb a career ladder, towards cozier, safer and better paid job behind a desk. Let's be honest here. Most people are no heroes. If they can earn more and stay safer at the same time, they will grab the opportunity. Policemen are no different. It just often take _that one case_ , to move away from the frontline.

This certainly could be the case. This certainly was big enough.

Detective Pavol Brazda wanted to show middle finger to each and every god and devil for sticking him with it.

He was no squemish man. He had seen his fair share of violence. He had investigated crime scenes in the wake of gang wars and robberies with multiple casualities. In time, he build up resistance and this days, a sight of corpses was just another flavour of the job. He still felt pangs of sadness and regret over certain tragedies, but the contact with death itself, no longer phazed him.

However in the last two weeks, he felt as if he stepped into pandemonium and every other day, someone was discovering a new circle, for him to personally check.

The sight that greeted him upon arrival, was one he became quite familiar with in recent days. The crime scene resembled a miniature war zone - Heavy property damage, multiple bodies and bullet marks and casings everywhere.

The most troubling and actually scariest part, was that he was dealing with just a fraction of a literall killing wave that hit the country. Dead bodies of gangsters were being discovered in old factories, abandoned apartment buildings or warehouses. Each place bearing the marks of an all out battle. The consensus in the Force was that they were victims of gang fights but... There was almost animalistic brutality that was directed at the targets. Something about this felt familiar to him as well.

Some bodies were nearly torn apart from excessive force, like it was more about simple turf dispute, but rather an action fueled by hate. There must be a severe dose of malevolence from someone who uses cyanide bullets. There was no doubt in Brazda's mind, that whoever was responsible, wished for complete extermination. This however, was the _bright_ side of the problem.

There was another, paralel investigation carried on. This time on a suspected serial killing.

Seemingly with no connection to each other or the gang wars, several murders were commited, with victims being apparently random people.

There was a truck driver from Presov, tied to the front of his truck and smashed on the tree. Shop clerk in Zvolen, whose head had been found in a freezer, with the body lying outside. Someone slammed the door so hard it decapitated her. A car mechanic shoved in a stack of tires and set on fire. A student in Bratislava whose face has been scratched of on the wheel of his own bike, before his spine was snapped and a Norvegian bussinesman in delegation, that had been drowned in a toilet in his own hotel room, before he even managed to _flush,_ to name a few.

Brazda believed that those cases were connected, but no one could find the common element. According to profilers, there was too big of a diversity in approach to the killings. Where the mass murders seemed much more aggresive, the individual ones felt more focused and methodical. Purposefully ironic in their execution. In detective's personal opinion however, they have been improvised with whatever was on the spot, with impulsive and twisted imagination. Still, he couldn't exactly present his gut feeling as a lead and that wasn't his case anyway. Different culprits working in tandem were discussed, but again, no connection between the cases were discovered, either in method or motive.

Moreover, due to the spread of the killings, the reports and data took a while to be shared among every precinct.

Not to mention, that some purposefully delayed revealing their findings, in the offchance they will get the upper hand and catch the culprit(s) themselves and rake all the glory.

Great priorities guys.

On top of that, while he wouldn't say it out loud, there was still a possibility of sabotage if there was someone on the take. No one likes to rememeber that there may be dirty cops, but when you deal with scum all your life, you in turn start to see scum everywhere, for better or worse.

Anyway... He couldn't shake the feeling, that there is something obvious he was missing.

Like the reason he was actually called here... Hell, he couldn't even remember the name. It was more of a village than a town, with one of those random names you may rise your eyebrow at.

Local police department was smaller than what you would find in single precinct of some bigger city, and in a place where everybody knew everbody, the biggest crime they have dealt with till now was a shoplifting or tourists stealing towels from local hotel. They completly freaked out, when a recepcionist from said hotel has been found dead behind her desk.

According to the report from the pathologist, she was hit in the face with her work computer's keybord, with enough force that the device shattered, and then stabbed to death with a sharp, plastic remains. Like something straight out of "Friday the 13th" movie.

Like... Fuck. If that wasn't personal grudge, than nothing was. But THAT wasn't the reason for his presence yet. That came a bit later. With no one witnessing anyone walking in or out of the hotel, local cops expanded their search towards the nearest human settlement. In this case, a remote mansion deeper in the forest surrounding the village. Upon finding the dozens of rotting bodies at the entrance, _this_ was when they gave up and called outside help.

And that brough him up to to this point. Facing yet another familiar scene, bearing unmistakable similiarities to the supposed gang shootouts he was dealing with lately.

Altough it wasn't something he liked to admit, he expected this case to be as futile in search for answers as the previous ones. Therefore, he was rather surprised to find breadcrumbs, that were absent on previous occasions.

Maybe it was some sixth sense. Maybe his awarness has been oversensitive due to the lack of progress. Or maybe it was just dumb luck, but the moment he sweeped his gaze on the driveway, he felt something amiss.

It took him few minutes of intense staring, but he finally noticed the ill fitting piece. With all the tracks left by local cop's cars and by his own collegues - not to mention a sizeable pool of blood - it was easy to miss a peculiar set of tire marks. They were darker and shaped differently and judging by the direction, the car must have took a strong swerve near the gate. Maybe even hit it. From there, like following Ariadna's string, he traced them until they straightened and started running away from the mansion.

So there was another car aside from the three destroyed ones. One that arrived, did some drifting and went away. Must have been quite heavy to leave such visible tracks and what's more, Brazda could see a tire pattern. Finally. No longer "ghost" cases. Something to actually look for at last.

He smiled under his nose. He'll need to pass it on to check. But for now, he strove deeper into the crime scene.

Carefully manouvering his body between ruined gate and a burned jeep, he got on the front yard.

He tossed a glance at the ruined vehicle, scowling at the charred human remains still inside. The explosion pulverized the bodies from waist up, and burned what's left to blackened crisp. The car behind and the crew in it didn't fared much better, caught in the same blast.

That however was a common sight lately. Brazda was searching for something else.

The last car stood little away from the others and sideways. He will get to it in a while, but first, he glanced around the front lawn. There was surprisingly little remains and judging by the marks left on the few corpses, it wasn't caused by the blast.

He could see more of his colleagues, milling around, taking shots of the crime scene or making notes. No one was disturbing him for now. He crouched next to one of the bodies. Most of it was missing as well, but the marks looked more like it had been torn piece by piece, rather than in a singular burst. There was no beating around the bush. Something ate that guy, and judging from the lack of body parts, it must have helped itself to the separated limbs as well. No single animal could eat this much, so it must have been a group that found the battleground to be an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Brazda tossed a glance at the gun next to the corpse. Sadly he wasn't a gun expert so he could only identify it as a type of SMG, but he was more interested by damage done to it. It was slightly dented in multiple places. Once again, doesn't looked like a damage caused by explosion, but rather as if it was hit by a hammer randomly in a few places... Or had something heavy pressed on it. Could the animals that ate the carrion stepped on it a few times? They would have to be damn heavy... And have had a pretty hard feet.

Lastly, he approached the final jeep. This one seemed to be least damaged, but its hood and windshield were covered with caked blood. Closer inspection revealed also chunks of flesh stuck to the surface. The grill wasn't dented so Brazda excluted the car hitting someone. More likely something fell _on_ the car. Pavol's guess would be on remains of men killed by the blast.

He circled the jeep around to discover three more, mangled bodies. The type of wounds as well as scorch marks suggested another explosive. Their size, pointed to a use of grenade.

"Pavol!"

His silent musings had been interrupted when he heard Sergeant Blazej Kovac call his name.

"Blazej." Brazda confirmed rising up. "You have something for me?"

Theoretically, Brazda hold a slightly higher rank, but since they knew each other for years, they could afford to dismiss decorum outside of important official meetings. Pretty much the same went for everyone working at the same station, with the exception of the Chief. But even that only because he's supposed to be setting an example, rather than his own demand.

"Maybe even something useful." Sergeant answered, leading Brazda to a smaller of two buildings. "We found some plain wierd things in this place for which I honestly can't imagine the reason. Also, there's more gore and the stench may knock you out. It's better now after we opened the windows but still... Fuck, that's awful."

"More... _gore?_ " Brazda inquired, rising an eyebrow. "That's a wierd way to describe thehoookay..." Detective interrupted whatever his words supposed te be, as Kovac let him in to one of the rooms and the bespectacled man was hit by an intense wave of odour, and greeted by a sight that "gore" described perfectly.

Whole floor was covered in blood and... shit? The smell was certainly familiar now. Single chair laid broken and splintered and there was some kind of.. pattern left in the muck.

Despite his nose's desperate protests, Brazda ducked to take a closer look at the ground, making his glasses ride down his nose again. He pushed them up with irritation. He really needed a better fitting pair. One of this days they'll drop in shit like this.

Upon closer inspection, the pattern turned to be animal tracks. Something like a cloven hoof but not exactly... Trotters.

"Pigs?" He asked in a tone suggesting that any confirmation will be mere formality.

"You can tell, huh?" Blazej asked only mildly surprised. Then again, he knew that Pavol _earned_ that Detective rank. "Yeah, that's what we suspect as well." Confirmed Sergeant. "Let me give you a quick rundown before you start dissecting every little trace."

Once Pavol gave a confirming nod, Blazej began his explanation.

"According to locals, this place belongs to a man named Sasha Rassimov. Russian bussinesman involved in touristics. He owns sever hotels, hostels and motels, mostly in Slovakia. We're in one of such hostel right now actually."

"Who needs a hostel next to a house this big?" Simple question really. And yet, there was a note of suspicion in Pavol's tone when he asked.

Blazej nodded approvingly, that the Detective caught something was afoot. "Upon inspecting this place, we came to believe it served as barracks..."

"Barracks?" Pavol interrupted, not even hiding his surprise. "You mean, someone actually kept a personal army at hand?"

"That seems to be the case, judging from what we found in the actual mansion, but I'll get to that." Resuming the topic, Blazej pointed towards the bloodied room. "This place was obviously monitoring and communication centre, until someone busted it."

Pavol could see that. Keyboards were smashed and metal panels opened by force. Wires inside haphazardly ripped out. Monitor screens were likewise shattered.

"I assume it's too optimistic to hope you've found the camera recordings." Pavol stated rather than asked, with tone none to pleased. Blazej could tell at least that the Detective was annoyed with situation rather than their own performance.

"Records have been deleted." Sergeant admitted. "We found the physical tapes and our techies are trying salvage whatever frames has been spared, but it's an uphill battle doing it on the spot. We'll probably be forced to take this to actual lab."

Pavol released confirming but ostensibly disheartned grunt, prompting Blazej to continue. Seargent scratched his head, but wheter in embarassment, annoyance or confusion was anyones guess.

"Now, things are getting wierder. We've found a passage that leads underground, from this building to main house's basement. The basement that contains pigsty."

Pavol said nothing, but his gaze turned more focused behind his ill fitting glasses. Nodding in confirmation, he silently urged his colleague to continue. The othe cop gladly obliged.

"The locks in the pens were broken from the inside. We guess that the pigs got hungry and restless enough to break out in search of food. Still, those must have been some massive beasts if the managed to brute force their way out."

"I see..." Pavol muttered looking at bloodstained ground. "They must have used the tunnel to get from pigsty up here, and devour whatever was here. Then they got outside and got to the corpses, but with their first hunger sated, they didn't ate everything. Probably focused on severed limbs, which would explain why there are none..."

"Our suspicions match then." Kovac confirmed, but his expression was grim when he brought up next subject. "We also found that the basement contain something akin to dungeon and some kind of cells equipped with various... Tools. From medical knives, to some gardening implements to power tools. Also... There were traces of bleach. Large amount of it."

The unspoken implication hang heavily in the air. Bleach was commonly used to remove blood stains. The pigs? Popular way of disposing of the corpses.

An uncomfortable expression shown on Blazej's face when he spoke again. "If you want to know my opinion, those looked like interrogation rooms used by KGB."

Pavol's eyes narrowed and he instinctively lowered his voice when he spoke. "You think that this... Sasha, may have collaborated with secret service, foreign or otherwise?"

"Well, he _is_ Russian. I wouldn't be surprised if he was on Kremlin's payroll. But in that case... Aren't we sticking our necks _far_ above our pay grade?"

That was an unpleasant thought, Pavol had to grimly admit. Still, getting cold feet at the mere possibility, would be downright humilating.

"We'll deal with that bridge when we get to it." He said. "What else can you tell me?"

Blazej sighted in resignation, but he indeed resumed his impromptu report. "Aside from several empty bottles of vodka, a radio and a hanging pig carcass that someone apparently used as a gun target..." At Pavol's raised eyebrow he tossed his hands in the air in exasperation. "Seriously, we have no idea. Anyway, aside from that we didn't found anything really interesting in the basement, aside from and elevator and what we believe was main staircase, that connects all floors."

"The elevator is the curious element, or rather, that entrance to it on the first floor is masked. Hell, when the boys entered through the main door, they got lost."

"Lost?"

"Yeah." Blazej nodded. "Turns out the whole floor is quite realistic fake, designed like a labyrinth. We suspect it was supposed to serve as elaborate trap for burglars. Like, the alarm is much to plebian for filthy rich guy, so he builds a whole maze to trap the thief. Speaking of maze, we have found the minotaur."

"The what now?" The owlish, stunned expression on Pavol's face was such an abnormal occurence, that Blazej almost snorted. Almost.

"That's what we dubbed him till we can confirm his identity. A really massive man, with a face looking like someone set a shit on fire and then put it out with a combat boot. His throat was slit... Or rather torn open. Massive blood loss seems to be the case of death."

Pavol rubbed his temples. This... Sounded absolutely retarded. "If you'll tell me, that this Sasha guy hired a disfigured giant, specifically to serve as a troll in labyrinth... At this point I'll probably believe you."

Guess what? This sounded less and less like another case of "gang war" to Pavol's ears.

"The thing you'll probably want to know is that the "Minotaur" was in advanced state of decay. You may have noticed it on the outside, but the bodies there are similarily old."

Truth to be told, Pavol didn't noticed. The damage was too extensive for him to get it at the first glance. He wisely decided to omit that mistake. Instead he asked. "How old?"

"Once again hard to tell without taking them all to lab, but our pathologist estimates few weeks at least."

Few weeks? That predates everything Pavol has been working on recently. Judging from the scraps of information he gathered here, that were absent on every other massacre scene... Could it be that they had found a Ground Zero? A point of origin for the sudden wave of violence in the country?

"Anything else?" Pavols asked, trying his best to sound and look aloof. However...

Despite the grim setting, Blazej was now barely restraining himself from bursting out in laughter. The info got Pavol to almost salivate. He had a look of a dog that just noticed a huge-ass steak on the table, but pretended to not be intersted.

"Hmm... The second floor was a regular inhabitable space. No architectural surprises there. At least we found none. However a major battle took place there. More than thirty dead, all of them armed, few even armoured. Some killed by explosive, one with heavily torn throat, some shot with 9mm, dozens riddled with bullets from auto, and one burned by something _incredibly_ nasty. Pathologist claims its white phosphorus."

"Jesus..." Was the only thing that Pavol managed to mutter.

"All of the bodies are few weeks old, so we can assume they died at the same assault that killed the "Minotaur". There are few more bodies on the roof, that are dated similiar, but died from different weapons. Parabellum bullets and buckshot. Both absent from the gun fight below. One guy had broken wrist and crushed windpipe. He must have choked to death."

That was pretty sadistic... Why that sounded so familiar?

"More than one culprit?" Pavol asked instead.

"That's probable." His colleague agreed. "However the part that you'll probably want to hear is that while we couldn't run a full toxicology tests, few bodies carry unmistakable marks of cyanide poisoning."

Bingo.

"So every massacre credited to gang wars..." Pavol spoke aloud as if testing if the concept sounded right when he actually heard it. "...is somehow connected to whatever happened here."

Yup. It still sounded plausible.

"But the question remains what _happened_ here." The question was not directed at Sergeant Kovac, but rather Pavol simply voicing his musings and surprisingly, Blazej actually answered.

"We managed to find, what we believe are personal quarters of the owner. They were torn upside down, but nothing valuable seemed to be missing. However we also found the emptied safe in the study. The culprit or culprits searched something here, and were willing to face heavy resistance just to get it. Still, we don't know what they were after just yet."

"I see..." Pavol concluded. "Still tremendous job you did here. I guess I wasn't really needed, but I'll take a look in the house if only for personal satisfaction."

"Sure." The fellow cop agreed lightly and evidently wanted to say something more, when his radio came to life.

"Sergeant. Paluch's done messing with the tapes. He has _something_ but as expected, it's not much."

"Thank you Tkac."

That caught Pavol's interest. "Is it possible to see what they have?" He asked. "Might as well get it out of the way."

"Yeah. Why not."

The walk didn't last long. Few steps down the hallway, and behind a corner they reached living quarters. Rows of two or four person rooms. One of those had bathroom clean enough, for Tomas Paluch to turn into impromptu dark room. With the tapes nearly completly erased, he foregone any complex recovery, and just cut the tape to pieces and used the same method as with photos, to enlarge whatever frames weren't completly blank.

From all the cameras, he managed to get whole eight pictures of blurred colors. Great. Why can't life be easy for the few decent people?

Namely, for Brazda.

"We got absolutely nothing from the gate camera." Paluch offered an explanation as he placed the pictures on the table. "We got five pieces from first floor cameras, one from the backyard and two from the front."

Moving the pictures, Paluch now sorted them in three cathegories, making it easier for Brazda to look for details.

First, the most numerous pictures gained his attention. They seemed to depict corridors, and some rooms, but sadly he couldn't see any movement. Actually they seemed pretty empty and bland. As if nothing detailed was ever present. Certain sameness could be noticed in all of them. Since they came from the supposed "labirynth" floor, he could now understand confusion one must feel when stuck inside.

The one from the backyard caught his interest as he noticed a familiar shape. Without a doubt it was a darkly dressed human silhuette. And while it was facing backwards to camera, from the way its arms were placed, Brazda could guess it was holding a rifle. But at the same time, the person's posture was not one of either aggresion or carefulness. The figure seamed at ease, which made Brazda suspect it's a member of security force, making rounds. Still... What kind of civilian hired security with rifles and what for?

The ones from the front yard seemed confusing at first. One showed empty parking lot and the other was slightly blurred by a flash, as if someone took a photo straight at the camera, but not as bright. There were some shapes behind that flash as well.

With furrowed brows, he searched for meaning in the picture.

Finally the obvious occured to him - the flash was a gunshot. By some damn miracle, Paluch recovered the exact moment of someone shooting at the camera. That someone couldn't be anyone else than the assailant they were looking for! That had to be the first time they managed to get them on tape!

Too bad that the flash made everything behind seem darker in comparision. Not to mention, that the face was directly obscured by it.

Undaunted, he tried to take in every detail surrounding the shot. There was a certain blocky shape there. A car? But if that image came from the front yard camera, the only car that could be in such position, would be the one closest to the mansion. So the culprit stood there... Brazda could notice that he was damn tall if he took the jeep as a comparision, as well as dressed in lots of black.

Something started scratching in the back of Brazda's mind. Some familiarity he should be aware of. But what was that bright shape next to the shooter? It seemed to reach into the car... Another person?

And then clarity descended as pieces started to fall into place. Two people. One of them was a tall man decked in black and the other was presumably woman in white. The presumed culprits of the hostel massacre, from about a month ago. The case that was benched for the lack of new leads, since the only surviving victim passed away in hospital, from what doctors claim to be night terror strong enough, to cause a heart attack. The man literally died from fear.

Meanwhile the unharmed witness - the tourist - returned to States, post haste, leaving them with no one to question about the event.

But now... He was certain those were the same people. The heavy car that left the marks near the front gate, could have been the truck that crashed into the tourist's room. A military truck. Something like this was easier to spot than a human and pretty distinctive, so maybe someone had seen it. One more clue they had, was that the tourist called their accent familiar, but couldn't recognize sense. So they must have spoken with language similiar to what the tourist knew. That would further help to narrow their identity.

What's more, there was a case of dual types of victims at the hostel. One that had been tortured to death and those who had been supposedly their murderers, themselves killed by the monochrome pair.

The hostel massacre connected to this case with the presence of the same culprits. This case connected to the wave of manslaughter via use of cyanide bullets. All of this tied together, and he would bet his left testicle, that the serial killings of civilians, was also connected to this.

Brazda looked up from the table, with renewed determination present on his face. When he pushed up his glasses for the Nth time, the gesture seemed almost regal.

"Kovac. Dig everything you can get on Sasha Rassimov. I don't think it's the KGB he hides in his closet. Also if possible, try to get in touch with that Steven guy. We're about to pull a hostel case from the freezer."

He was far from getting a complete picture. But he finally found corner pieces, and now, he could start connecting the remaining elements.

...

Minister, was not a happy man.

Actually, to be more specific, he wasn't a happy man _now._ The problem of missing Łysa Góra _(pol: Bald Mountain)_ operatives were taking toll on his sleep. The lack of progress from either police or MP was just adding more strain on his mind. He was half expecting that at any given moment his phone may ring with very important and influental people being very cross with his dogs shitting on their porch.

Thus, he neraly jumped out of his skin, when he heard the buzzing sound. It took him a moment to realize that it was not a phone but an intercom and his secretary's voice was flowing through.

"Mr. Minister, Captain Andrzej Wierzbicki wishes to see you."

What?

Minister furrowed his brow. Once his first scare faded away, he started raking his brain. That name sounded familiar, but for the love of God, he couldn't match a face to it. Did he read or heard it somewhere?

Apparently his musings took a bit to long, forcing his secretary to remind of the guest's presence.

"Mr. Minister, Colonel says, that you may also recognize the name 'Swaróg' _(pol. spelling of Svarog.)_."

That did the trick.

Once his brain stopped playing dead, he recalled how when he first took the position of the Minister, he was given a lot of documentation. Among them was a list that he merely skimmed. It was an index of former and current Łysa Góra operatives.

Andrzej Wierzbicki, codenamed as "Swaróg" was the first name on the list. Leader of the very first squad of field agents, and later supreme commander of all Łysa Góra field squads. Even long after leaving the field, he served as a superior and advisor to the new and old members of the group. While not a founder, he could be called a Łysa Góra's father.

That he would appear here right now... Was that a good or bad sign? Certainly it was not something that should be ignored.

"Ah yes, let the Captain in please."

The man that entered the office was not an imposing sight. Actually for the veteran of such a fearsome group, he looked quite frail in his grey slacks and red sweater. Almost perfect image of classic "grandpa" from family album.

That was - Minister supposed - caused by the fact that Wierzbicki must have been at least twice his age. Man in his seventies, or maybe even eighties.

Back, bent under the weight of passed years. In lieu of a cane, he supported his body with an iron crutch. His face was almost collapsing upon itself from the advanced age, and the thin, white wreath was all that remained of his hair.

Yet there was still a spring in his step. The body, even hunched and slightly off balance, was not sagged. Aside from his face and palms, his neck was the only exposed flesh and even that neck was wiry and resembled a thick rope.

However what caught Ministers eye the most, was a thick stack of folders, held under the man's arm.

"Welcome Captain." Said Minister, extending his hand. "That's certainly unexpected visit but please take a sit."

"Good day to you to, Mr. Minister." Old soldier aswered as he shook Minister's hand.

Good God, his hand was _hard!_ It was like grabbing a branch of a fossilized tree.

"Normally, I would ask what brings you here Captain, but I believe I can guess..."

"That's good." Said the older man as he sat down. "It will spare us some time. I believe I can solve your problem at least partially."

"That would be some good news at last. But what exactly do you mean? How can you help?"

Old Captain took a breath, visibly preparing for some longer explanation, while Minister took the moment to ask his secretary for a tea. He gave the older man a look and recieving a nod, he doubled the order.

Personally, he would rather pull out a bottle of vodka from his hidden stash, but it would be really awkward if Captain died in his office from a liver failure.

Finally the officer was ready to speak.

"One of my former subordinates contacted me, that apparently police looks for him."

Minister had to stop himself from wincing. He should have expected that former Black Ops won't be caught off guard, but actually hearing that, made him feel kinda stupid. He kept this to himself, letting his guest continue without interruption.

"He was worried that someone from the past may be gunning for him, so he asked me to look into this. Well I did look and the problem turned out to be blown out of proportion."

"Can you please elaborate?" Minister could feel certain annoyance at the other man apparently building tension for shits and giggles and yet relaxing that tension in the same sentence, without actually telling anything.

"You were worried that certain highly skilled people with rather unpleasant reputation and ability to cross the borders undetected, disappeared without a trace, right?" At the confirming nod from Minister, Captain finally revealed his cards. "Turns out it's not the agents of Łysa Góra that disappeared, but their documentation."

"I don't think I follow. I mean I mostly understand the sense, but I can't exactly see connection."

Captain hummed in response but didn't let the tension build up again. "Once Łysa Góra was disbanded, former members were either reassigned to other units, retired or were discharged for whatever reason. Most of them took different jobs and some opened their own bussineses, often in different towns. But all of that was recorded in their files... Until some moron in archieves, swiped their documents together with other papers and stuffed them together with monthly update of kitchen inventory. With their records gone, everyone suddenly shit their pants that former Black Ops went blank and instantly assume worst case scenario. I went to registry, screamed at a lot of people, and the documents found themselves. Everyone is accounted for."

Minister stared. And stared. And stared some more. Finally he dropped face in his hands and groaned.

"I'm surrounded by idiots."

Captain offered him a wry smile. "When was the last time any job of any importance has been aquired accordingly to competence for said job? This country runs on nepotism since the end of the war."

Minister glared from behind his fingers. That actually stung.

"The problem is..."

Those three words sucked whatever strengh he was building up for insulted tirade. Of course, the other shoe had to drop.

"This would be all, if an actual Łysa Góra was concerned. _Sabat_ _(pol: Sabbath)_ on the other hand..."

Minister blinked at that. "Wait... Sabat? Never heard of it before."

Now it was Captain turn to look surprised.

"How much do you actually know about Łysa Góra?"

"Very vague and general picture. I know you were a team and later organisation formed for covert operations near eastern border and that you were permitted certain... Questionable activities. Finally the formation was disbanded due to budget constrains." Minister admitted. "I recieved a tentative list list of names and codenames of members _just in case,_ but as your group was already dissolved by the time I took the office, I never bothered to look deeper into this.

Captain released a resigned sight. "I guess that _would_ make sense in your position. Still it would be convinient for us if you knew where it all comes from. I can give you shortened version if you will. It will be much faster than digging out the files."

Minister just gave him a tired "Go ahead" wave with his hand. Just at this moment his secretary brought tea.

As Capitan started talking, Minister wondered if he should risk pulling out the vodka anyway.

"You remember the banderites, right? Particularily the UPA?" Old soldier asked, taking a sip of tea. Minister simply nodded in answer.

He was old enough, that in his school days, topic of banderites was pretty common. While heavily painted by communists' bias back then, today he could get the clearer picture.

Banderites...

Followers of Stepan Bandera and members of UON-B party.

However for Poles and Jews, this was an umbrella term, covering also UPA - military formation, funded and controlled by UON-B.

On one hand, they fought for independent Ukraine. A goal he could sympathize with. On the other, they were radical facists responsible for attacks on south-eastern villages and mass murders of Polish civilians as well as pogroms of Jews. Not even their fellow Ukrainians were safe if they disagreed with their policy.

That being said...

"Wasn't UPA neutralized in "Wisła" Operation?"

This was a touchy subject for many. In attempt to cut off support and supply lines for UPA, government of PRL evicted Ukrainians and mixed families, forcing them further east, into ZSRR territory. With potential supporters banished from country, UPA activities in Poland came to a screeching halt.

This was a common school knowledge in Minister's youth, however, the man once known as Swaróg, snorted in disdain. "This is certainly what history books say. But let's face it. Government kicked out _all_ Ukraininas, even those that never even came in contact with UPA. Also what was the point in evicting mixed families? Why would they collaborate with radical facists? This was an etnic purge, disguised as anti-bandit operation. That UPA took a hit was a side benefit."

That unpleasant possibility was only leaking out after fall of communism in Poland. Truly, this was a clash between communism and facism, with one crime pushing against the other.

But they were getting sidetracked, prompting Minister to correct the course. "Unsavory decisions of our former government aside, how does it tie to the Łysa Góra?"

Wierzbicki took a sip of his own tea before answering. "I apologize for the prolonged setup, but now that we're on the same page, you probably realized that communists never admit a failure. Not on their own and often not when someone pushes it in their face. They are obsessed with facade of communism being always succesful. Komitet Centralny paraded "Wisła" Operation as a great victory against facism and Ukrainian bandits. That's what every history book will say. What the books doesn't say is that UPA was tripped in their track, but not destroyed."

"Oh?"

"Ideology can survive long after power wanes. UPA lost their support in Poland which initially slowed them down, but with so many people unjustly banished, resentment against us actually increased. While they were forced to smuggle supplies through the borders now, that resentment allowed UPA to return with vengence. What's more, with the Soviets putting heavy preassure on them, retreating banderites were forced towards our borders.

It was a matter of time, before the word of their resumed activities would reach further into Poland and then into Europe. Legitimacy of "Wisła" Operation and mass eviction would be questioned and a petty mask of perfection that commies hide behind, would be damaged.

This was something they could let to happen, but any direct intervention, would just bring more attention.

KC needed something outside the official forces."

"And so, Łysa Góra was formed." Minister confirmed the obvious, if only to ensure his guest that he was listening.

"It was a strange arrangement." The story continued. "To avoid attracting attention a small budget was was designed, that went mostly into mission control equipement. On the field, there was only six of us, with light arms. There was no chance to take on UPA head on, but that was not the point. Our mission was pretty much to act as deterrent, and make locals feel safe enough to stay quiet. So we became ghosts. We made UPA patrols and squads disappear. Locals helped us out, by spreading rumors of how we were an actual supernatural force, fuelling paranoia among enemy forces.

We knew we were used by commies to cover their asses, but we swallowed that bitter pill and told ourselves that we fight to keep our countrymen safe, if just a little.

This ghost war between Ukrainian semi-military and our guerilla unit lasted for a while. But eventually... We started to make progress. While we couldn't seriously damage them in combat, our assasinations and scare tactics started to shake their morale and their numbers slowly wittled away causing integrity to fall apart. Despite all odds we were succeeding and this in turn warranted us attention form higher ups. Apparently we became interesting enough, to run as a sort of experiment on psychological warfare. Budget started slowly increasing and more resources began to trickle in. Our numbers also grew and I recieved my first promotion.

We were on our way to become an actual, recognized force. We could also see the signs of the communist regime in our country losing ground and it's power slowly slipping away. This would also free us from our shameful leash..."

Old captain sighted regretfully. His tone forlorn. "But success easly leads to carelessnes. Impressed by our progress, government decided to rise up the ante, and within Łysa Góra, formed a... Special unit. It was rumored that it was supposed to be their last resort against opposition parties and their members, that were slowly shaking off communists' grip on our nation. If that was even the case, they never got around to use it and thank God for that..."

He took the folder he brough with him and handed them to Minister.

"Hope you're open minded enough Mr. Minister. Cause you're about to read and hear some wierd shit. Those..." He patted the stack of of documents. "...are files of Sabat."

...

Revy took a swig of her beer and released a satisfied sight. Too bad this place had no rum in the offer, but any cold beverage certainly felt nice in this heat. An open air bar with umbrellas for shade, brought back memories from market in Roanapur, where she threatned Rock with a gun for being a nosy scout boy. How much has changed from that time... Some for better some for worse. Fuck she was getting sentimental. She really could use something stronger, but Dutch would get on her ass again for getting plastered before the job. Well, good thing she had Rock to serve as distraction.

"So, welcome to Bangkok. Mekka of foot fetishists, capitol of child pornography and chicks with dicks."

Predictibly it made Rock groan in exasperation.

"I've been here before you know? My company send me in delegation to various places, but you're the first one to actually make a city sound unappealing."

"Huh. Go figure. Did you tried to sink in some local debauchery when out of your bosses sight? You need to be cerful not to be hit in the face with a surprise between girl's legs."

Rock refused to take the obvious bait and instead snorted with some bitter humour. "My boss tried to get me killed to cover his ass. You think they would let me have _fun_ in delegation? I was lucky if they calculated enough expense for decent hotel."

Revy chuckled at that. "Point taken."

Meanwhile, Rock sipped his own beer, lazily observing his... Co-worker? Crew-mate? Friend?

At the moment Revy looked... At ease. Maybe even little happy. Kinda like when she first played with those kids in Japan, letting herself forget of all the shit they were swimming in. There was a flicker of light in her eyes, that was neither a gleam of sadistic joy or spark of anger. It was a rare shine of _absence_ of the usual burdens on her mind and soul. And Rock felt himself partake in that shine, letting himself lose in the relaxing moment.

But for their rarity, those flickers were all the more painful.

Never enough to pierce through this hell of a life, but just enough to remind them of what they'll never have.

A starving man won't be filled with a single bite of bread. It will merely remind him of how hungry he is. Those glimpses of light were not allowing them to fall into comfortable apathy, but instead kept them on the edge, pushing ever closer to madness. It was a matter of time until something snaps, and one of them or both, end up dead.

"Too bad we can't simply take vacation and do some traveling. Act like the annoing tourists, everyone hates."

This got a laugh out of the gunslinger. "We're part time pirates. We travel all over the world, if we have cash, we buy something from locals - mostly drinks - and they hate us anyway. The only thing that differ us from tourists is that when we steal shit, it's something with more class than hotel towels."

Rock joined her in laughter. "Touche."

Another flicker and for a moment their souls felt light and free of stench of blood.

And then commotion snuffed it again.

"What's that?" Rock asked, without really expecting an answer, while turning his eyes towards source of the noise. Both he and Revy were looking now at the rapid movement down the street.

People.

Lot's of people running haphazardly, some pushing through the crowd, some clinging to the cityzens, saying something in various languages. Rock couldn't discern the words, but they sounded pleading. Young. Old. Children. Men and women. Some dressed normally, others in dirty rags. Some in underwear, some even naked. Some looking healthy, other malnourished. Some even overweight. Asians and foreigners. No rhyme or reason, save for one thing. They all had that animalistic fright in their eyes. Looking over their shoulders with paniced expression or staring around, uncertain and shocked.

They seemed to run from _something_ , but Rock couldn't identify what. Revy on other hand, grimaced and had a look of recognition on her face.

Before he could even ask, the woman stood up, and practically dragged him from his seat. He could hear her half whisper to him.

"Escapees from human trafficking. Let's go back to the pier. Somethings stinks here and we don't want to stick around if whoever held them, tries to recover the merchandise."

Rock cast one last look at the unfortunate souls. Not his fight, he told himself. It's better to ignore if he has no stakes in this. It doesn't concern him and won't entertain him. Just turn away... Turn away...

...

Did you heard about asian hornet? Nasty motherfucker if there ever was one. Imagine if you will, a bigass wasp and everything that makes you hate it. It's intrusive, territorial, agressive and foul tempered. They will stuck their greedy heads in every treat they can find and if that's not enough they will pray on other, weaker insects. Just great. And the best part? If you finally manage to smash one of those assholes, it's pheromones will mark you as a target for a whole fucking hive. Good luck surviving a swarm of persistent, flying, venomous shits, homing in on your sorry ass.

Now, what will you get, when you take those lovely qualities and put them in a human? No, not a bag of dicks.

Well... Ok that too. But in this case, you get the Gorgon's Head. Too numerous and well armed, to be called a mere gang. To undisciplined and unpredictible to qualify as proper mafia.

They were an infection.

There was no citizen in Bangkok and maybe even in whole Thailand, who wouldn't know about them. Both feared and reviled, the gang rooted itself in the city with all the pleasantry and effectivness of melted plastic burning into the skin.

Kidnapping, slavery, prostitution and pornography of all possible kinds. From underground gladiatoral battles to organ trafficking, the so called Snakes, not just took the niche of prime dealers of human merchandise, but carved it with bestial savagery in city's underworld tissue.

One could ask what was police doing in that case.

To be fair to Bangkok's finest, they fought the good fight where they could. They searched for missing people. They raided Gorgon's Head's hideouts and "bussines" joints. They busted the Snakes they could get their hands on...

But it was all too little, too late. Their supreficial victories, couldn't really put a dent in Snakes' crime machine. For one, many of the cops preferred juicy bribes to supplement the thin broth of civil servant salary. Two, it was suspected that higher ups were also on the take or someone powerful was keeping their hands tied. It could also be both.

And third, there was sheer danger of dealing with reportedly insane and certifiably vengeful members of Gorgon's Head.

It was a common knowledge that many of police officers involved in busting Snakes, has been victims of bloody retaliation. Either murdered directly or with harm coming to their families. Often both. It was not even a question of "if" but "when" and "how bad".

About half a year ago however, there was a tonal shift. As if a ripple of unrest went through the Snakes' ranks, the gangsters became more aggresive but also more reckless. They openly appeared on the streats and were coming to blows with cops that seemed to catch a second breath. Whatever dirt had been clogging Bangkok police's wheels seemingly disappeared.

This was not a cause for celebration however. Whatever happened that provoked such unrest among Snakes, was apparently pushing them towards critical mass. For a few weeks, city was hanging on a verge of bloody riots, until whoever stood at the helm of this rowdy bunch, managed to reign them in and force them to return to the city's underbelly.

Shortly after that, Gorgon's Head's activity in capital, visibly dropped. Some witnesses claimed that they saw a whole columns of cars, with familiar Cobra painting, leaving the city.

While not full might of Gorgon's Head left, the police encouraged by apparent if unexplained massive exodus of gang's forces, once again stepped up their game in hope to finally rout the gang for good.

It was a good effort, but once again, proved to be futile. After particularly brutal gunfight in the middle of the street, both sides suffered heavy casualities. And while police forces marginally won, it became apparent that Gorgon's Head can restore their forces at much quicker rate. Their numbers were bolstered by punks that wanted to "fuck the system!" for no other reason than because it looked cool. By degenartes and perverts who seeked a chance to sample the "merchandise". By men either so greedy or so desperate, they would commit any atrocity to earn good money. And finally by smaller gangs and upstart crooks, that seeked safety and strenght in numbers.

In comparision, no one really wanted to put on a uniform and risk their lives against murderes of the worst sort, for a petty prise and pitty penny.

It soon became obvious to both Bangkok's governing body and police's top brass, that should police went to full on war with Gorgon's Head, they would lose by attrition. The option to bring on military was discussed, but tossed aside, as putting a capital on a lockdown and turning it into warzone until gang is eliminated, would cripple tourist industry and cost the city a huge amount. It was decided, for better or worse, that the parasite that was Snakes' existence, was _lesser evil_. And so, police forces had no choice but to return to fighting off the symptoms, without being able to cure the disease and paying the price for each real or percieved slight, one good cop at a time.

Speaking of slights to the Gorgon's Head...

For example, releasing the slaves qualify as kicking metaphorical hornets' (Snakes'?) nest. Funny... Just like with real hornets, all it took was a little smoke to royally screw them over.

Ok, maybe "little smoke" was wrong euphemism for the "fuckload of smoke grenades in enclosed space" that were actually used. And the oily rags stuffed into ventilation and set on fire. And just maaaybe it ignored a few strategically tossed tear-gas grenades as a cherry on top.

Fuck it. That was damn overkill or a recepie for a smoked snake. Bottom line is - smoke works. Shut up.

As the last of the Snakes tried to crawl (Slither? Hah!) on all fours towards the door, he felt rather than heard the steps that were coming closer. With some primal sense he could detect the presence of a bigger predator getting closer.

Nearly blind from smoke and gas that filled the room and chocking from both, on his way to the only exit, his hand fell on a familiar shape. Grabbing the dropped ingram he turned on his ass and send a desperate series towards the looming shape in the smoke.

Too bad there was only a handful of bullets left in clip, before the gun went *click*. Even worse, that they were stopped by tactical armor, without hurting even the assailant's feelings.

With his eyes teared, swollen and half lidded, he could only vaguely see the tall figure emerging from the fumes, but he already knew who that was.

Tall bastard dressed in monochromatic camo pants, stained with blood and tucked in high boots with armor plates on shins and knees.

If he bothered to pay more attention earlier, he would have noticed a smiley face scratched on the surface of right knee plate, but he was always more preoccupied by armored tactical vest, that against small caliber guns they were mostly using, turned their opponent into human shaped tank.

Those who managed to grab some heavier weapons, were the first to be eliminated by intruder's own AK-47 or one of many handguns or knives, strapped to his person. And then there was this fucking creepy, bird-like gas mask.

If the Snake was more literate or at least used internet for anything other than porn, he would have recognized how it was stylized on plague doctor's mask from the Black Death times in Europe.

Sadly he missed the subtle joke of how fitting it was for the so called Black God of Death from Europe.

Gorgon's Head heard through undereworld grapevine, of someone called Chernobog that went through the human trafficking groups - namely those beloging to their new bussines partner - like a forest fire.

Of course, they couldn't believe that a single man can be capable of such destruction. Even now, as Chernobog himself, stood before the sole survivor in one of their bigger hideouts, the last Snake still refused to believe that a single man could manage this. He just concluded that Chernobog was in fact, not a human.

Before he could do anything else, an arm grabbed him by the collar, and brough him face to beak with black clad beast. The difference in hight, caused gangster's feet to dangle in the air, as part of his brain muddled over strengh required to actually pull that off.

The distorted sound that came through the mask, sounded almost like devil's whisper..

"You're the only one left alive. If you want to keep the "alive" part, tell me where is Sasha Rassimov."

Some small, rational part of gangster's brain, realized that he shouldn't be surprised that this guy would look for Sasha. What with him pretty much burning down half of Slovakian underworld and all that...

But the bigger, louder and notably dumber part of his reptilian brain, felt insulted how he and his pals had been treated as _collateral damage_.

So he did what every other butthurt idiot with misconceptions about pride and dignity tends to do.

He spat in the taller man's face and told him to "fuck himself" with all the undeserved bravado.

In response, Chernobog did something unexpected.

With an eerie slowness, he pulled of his mask. The face beneath would be hard to describe, even if the Snake wasn't teary eyed from chemical compound, due to the black markings that covered it.

Not even the diagonal camouflage lines, but something... Like a war paint.

Black shades around the eyes created a ghostly look. The dots and lines covering the face formed patterns he couldn't recognize, and the symbols and runes sure as hell weren't of military design.

No. This was an image of a shaman or a witch doctor.

That creepy, painted face got closer and Snake heard an almost gentle whisper.

"That mask, was a gift..."

Before he could process what was that about, he felt a searing pain in his ear. His arm instinctively shot up and his fingers felt wetness and... Something missing.

His eyes opened so wide, that for a moment even the tears and swell couldn't block his vision. First he noticed blood on his hand and then...

The insane monster, shamelessly chewing the remains of his **E** xternal **A** udio **R** eceptor.

The moment of his mind cracking, was almost audiable.

As he lost control over his bladder, it was probably a miracle that his brain even registered the question.

"Now, where is that balding turd in overpriced Armani?"

His voice came out like a childish squeak. "The harbour... On the way to Roanapur."

An that was it. His eyes rolled over as his brain overloaded with stress and terror, pulled emergency OFF switch.

Stefan allowed the unconscious scum fall to the floor and tore out his bayonett from the mouth of another goon. The body no longer pinned to the door like a bug to board, joined to the rest of his buddies on the floor. He was just a few steps away, when there was a sound like an adhesive tape being peeled off and the last corpse finally unstuck from the ceiling and landed with a "splat".

Finally, it was done raining men. Hallelujah.

Chochoł didn't paid attention to this. He pretty much rushed towards exit. He was almost giddy. So close. So close!

On the way out, he tossed aside his armor. The lead it soaked up today, nearly doubled it's weight. It wouldn't hold up for much longer anyway. Lastly he also took the bag he left at the entrance. Semtex is not something you should carry into a gunfight if you can help it.

Running outside through busted door, he was greeted by a gust of wind, that carried a foul smell of rot and... cigarette smoke?

Ah. Someone must have taken an unauthorized break...

Chochoł's smile stretched into something ugly. How conivinient...

...

Revy concluded, that their client looked like a balding turd in overpriced Armani. An expensive briefcase held tightly in his hand. Meh. It was best to leave this to Dutch and Rock.

"Sasha Rassimov I presume." Former soldier stated rather than asked, prompting man in suit to nod.

"Indeed. Then you must be Lagoon Company. I heard a lot of good about you success rate."

Revy scoffed slightly. This was so cheesy, that she was actually glad when Rock started with the boring stuff.

"Mr. Rassimov. Our deal dictates that we deliver you safely to Roanapur port, where you will be recieved by your partner group, and payment for our service will be issued. Correct?"

"That's the gist of it." Sasha replied simply.

"Are there any obstacles we should be worried about?" The leader interjected. Obstacles were almost a given in their line of work, but it was good to be prepared.

"Not to my knowledge. I'm an honest bussinessman."

This time Revy couldn't keep herself from mocking laugh. "Of course. They have the most enemies." However from the corner of her eye, she noticed Rock frowning. Come to think of it, Dutch was also slightly tense.

There was a wordless exchange of glancess between the boss and the gunwoman, and the large man started a small talk with their client about "finer details of the assignment", while Revy pulled Rock to the side.

"Spit it out. What did you saw."

Without preamble, the negotiator used his head to point at their client.

"Look at him. From the words of Dutch, he is supposed to be some bigshot, but he arrived in a cab. He's rich and flaunts it with the way he dresses. He's juicy target, but there's no bodyguard around. Also why would he use a third party like us to get to Roanapur instead of someone fully legal? He's not honest with us."

"That's a given." Woman snorted. "But there's something else. Isn't it?"

"If he is lying to us, then that briefcase worries me."

The points clicked in Revys head as she realized what Rock was getting at. "Shit. You think he's some suicide bomber to take us out of the market?" Her hand instinctively went to rest on her gun.

"I'm not sure about the suicide part, but somethink definitely stinks here."

"Now that you mention it... What the hell!?"

The talks were interrupted not exactly by sudden smell that came with the wind change, but rather by a sound of metal hitting metal with great force, panicked screams and rumble of the engine pushed to it's limits. Seconds later, with screeching of wheels, a dumpster truck burst from behind the ship containers, and with heavy drift, settled itself on the new course. Straight at the Lagoon Company.

...

Chochoł was seeing red. Not metaphorically. A seagull slammed into the windshield a few minutes ago, but even from behind the blood smudges, he could see the hateful from of Sasha. The image he burned into his mind from paper clips and bussiness magazines that piece of shit appeared in. It was by that pure instinct of danger that people involved in lethal combat develope, that he dived behind dashboard, just as hail of bullets smashed the windshield to shards that fell on him like sharp rain.

With one hand still gripping the wheel, he responded by firing his WIST blindly from behind his cover, at the last known position of his target. He heard more shots and suddenly the truck jerked and started to shake.

...

"Fuck!" Revy unloaded her cutlasses at the driver, but he managed to duck from the onslaught, before responding with a blind fire. It was at that moment, one of the bullets hit the briefcase in Sasha's hand. The lack of explosion was enough encouragement to assume that it's not in fact a bomb, and the couriers/pirates, began (mostly) organized retreat, dragging the shell shocked and now visibly panicked client to the boat.

But it was obvious, that with the speed of the truck it's gonna turn their deck into an impromptu garage before they get far enough.

Foregoing the driver, Revy focused her fire on the front right tire. With a loud burst, the tire exploded and the sudden lose of traction, caused the large car to swerve sharply and move sideways. This, combined with it's own speed and mass, cause the vehicle to slowly topple on it's side. Now it was a giant brick, coming at them with sparks in it's wake, carried by the sheer momentum it still had. Still it slowed enough for them to kick the engines and escape. Just as Revy turned to do a running jump on the deck, she didn't notice the door in the driver's cab being tossed open and a figure climbing out and jumping down, behind moving mass of metal.

They were already safely under the deck, when the boat trembled from the wave caused by a huge object falling off the concrete pier.

...

Chochoł had to admit. It's been a while since someone could give him trouble. To bad, he couldn't cobble together any respect for someone working for Sasha. As he came to a stop from a rolling jump, he reached to a poach and pulled a detonator.

Quiz time. What do you get, when you leave a pile of rotting organic matter in humid, hot waether all stuffed to a semi hermetic container, with sun heating it up whole day?

Compressed methane.

With a press of a button, packs of semtex tossed in the trash, ignited the gas, turning the truck into a fireball. The container exploded like a gigantic grenade, sending shrapnel and burning trash in every direction, showering the retreating boat with heated death.

...

The second shockwave forced the crew to grab anything stable or get intimate with the floor.

Then the banging noise started. Wierd, irregular sounds comming from above.

"What's that noise?" Benny asked from his tiny, computer filed room. Still picking up lighter machines that fell from the shocks.

"Whanna climb up and see?" Spat Revy, annoyed at not being able to to put a bullet in whover forced them to run. So of course she directed her anger at the second best source - their hapless client.

"And you! There wasn't suppose to be troubles!"

"Not any that I know about!" Sasha screamed in defence, but there was obvious panic in his voice now.

Oddly enough, it was Rock who spoke next. His tone strangely cold for the usually mild man. "You're not even Sasha, are you?"

Revy for a moment looked incredulous, looking from her crewmate to now shocked client, before gritting her teeth and pointing a gun at the fake "Sasha".

"You have ten seconds to convince me to not shoot you. And I've already used five."

"Two-hands enough." Collected voice of her boss made her hestitate long enough for him to continue. "Fake or not, we're still on assignment, and I expect to get paid for that. It would be bad for our rep if you shoot him now."

Revy "tsked" and holstered her gun, but not before final threat. "You better fork out the cash as promised, or I'll beat you to death with that briefcase."

After frantic confirmation from their client, Dutch again adressed his temperamental subordinate.

"The noise stopped. Go up and check what this was about."

"Urh, fine."

As she climbed up, her nose twitched. "Ghh... What's that smell?"

The answer came as she opened the hatch and stuck her head oustide. The deck was littered with pieces of metal and trash. Some of it still on fire, but not enough to actually set anything aflame. The column of black smoke in the distance, allowed her to figure out what happened.

Jumping down she reported to her crewmates.

"The fucker that came at us, blown up the truck. We got bombarded with remains."

Dutch grumbled some chosen words about damage to his precious baby, before voicing what only few probably realized. "We got lucky none of it hit the torpedoes, or we would drinking Davy Jones' liquor stash by now." Rock and the passenger cringed at the revelation.

"Now... That being said, I would like to know why someone tried so hard to send us all to hell. Care to explain, Mr. 'Rassimov'?"

All eyes turned to the fake, causing the man to sweat profusely but he managed to compose himself enough to start explaining.

"I'm Vasili Stukov. I've came here for vacation, but ended up with a lot of gambling debts. I tried to work it off with odd jobs, but then this guy that looked like a bussinessman offered to pay off my debts if I do him a favour. He gave me the suit and a briefcase, and all I was supposed to do was to go with you to Roanapur and give you this briefcase once I meet his associates, who in turn confirm I did my part." He revealed, before adding. "I was suspecting I may be smuggling something, but I honestly didn't knew someone would try to kill me!"

"Fuck!" Revy slammed her foot at the wall, seething with fury. "We've been used as a bait! Once I get my hands on this bastard, I'm gonna shove a shotgun up his ass!"

"Which one?" Benny called from his corner. "The one who tried to kill us, or the one who set us up?"

"I have enough shotguns for everybody." Growled the gunwoman.

"I can't say I'm happy about this." Dutch spoke calmly from his seat "But it's not uncommon in our line of work."

"Yeah! But I can still be pissed about it!." The woman shouted back.

...

Chochoł glared at the departing boat as if he could sink it with fury alone. With a side glance, he noticed dock workers crawling out from their hiding holes. He was out of time. Once the shock wares off, they may actually remember him. Also the cops and fire department will soon arrive, lured by the smoke. It was time to get the fuck out of here and meet with Strzyga at rally point. Sasha might have slipped away right from his grasp, but he knew where his prey was going. The bastard won't leave Roanapur alive...

...

Praise the Lord. It was surely gift from Santa Christ, because she was good girl whole year.

"Wait." Mused the bleached woman. "I think I fucked something up."

Well it wasn't that important. Time to unwrap the presents. It certainly looked like a haven's intervention. You don't usually find Chechen separatists that far east. There's even lesser chance, that you'll run into them right during large weapon transaction. Certainly, Strzyga must have done some good lately. Does giving spare change to hobos in her hometown counts?

There was a saying among arms dealers, that's it absolutly humilating, to be killed from the guns they're selling. Thankfully, Strzyga always carried her trusted Glauberyt, saving her from commiting cultural _faux pas_ when she filled them with holes. That would be rude.

Double the luck, that Chechens had no such restriction about weapons they die from, so it came in handy once her gun clicked empty.

Running people with forklift, _maaay_ have been slightly over the top though..

She couldn't really take whole crates, since would take too much space. She mostly resupplied the ammo for her ouwn PM-84 and Chochoł's AK-47. About half a dozen of handguns mostly of HK variants and two TT were tossed in however. Similiar amount of SMGs followed suit and landed in the back of the van. Assault rifles consisted of two AK-47, one AK-74 and much to her surprise, she managed to find one AK-101. Three APS-95 also joined the heap.

"Oh? And what's this?" As she started to dig deeper in one of the crates, she almost squeed once she saw something she recognized.

"It's like a piece of home away from home!" Strzyga hugged the newly found FB Beryl as if it was a plushie, before almost reverently putting it together with the rest of the rifles. Down the line on her shopping list, she took KS-23K. An old model, but one she was familiar with and Benelli M3 that her partner seemed to prefere.

Lastly, she took care to stock on granades. Seriously, she could bet her virgin ass, that Chochoł used up every granade they got from their hidden storage, in some all out assault. He was going through explosives faster than Charlie Sheen through a brick of coke.

She pointedly ignored the dancing gnomes, singing something about pot and kettle.

Almost done. One last crate left, and it's a pretty big one. Hopefully it contains some RPGs. Chochoł will bitch about how the transport she procured this time, was a pastel colored hippie wagon, so she needed something to lessen the blow. To be fair, she wasn't happy about it either. The disguise was brilliant (or glitter. Very very glitter), but it was so boringly slow!

Oh. And he may bitch on how she was tripping on acid. Well, the dealer was dead. That would be waste of perfectly good stash.

Maybe she shouldn't have run over that guy in the first place.

Hopefully it won't ruin her chances for Santa's visit next Christmas.

She tore the lid open and peered inside. "Praise the Lord!"

While those weren't RPGs, the neat rows of C4 packages were definitely pleasant sight.

"Finally, some good, high quality plastic!" The woman cheered as she started pulling the explosives out. Seriously, Chochoł's obsession with semtex was a tad bit unhealthy. He may like to have something that triggers from tossed rock, but one of these days they'll blow up from hitting a hole in the road.

Most likely in Poland, where roads are more cratered than moon surface.

As she kept pulling the contents out, she noticed something large placed underneath. Few more seconds of digging, revealed additional cargo.

"Hooolyyyy shiiit. Sasha will shit blood with this."

With this finding, her friend may even forgive her for her drug indulgence.

Too bad the wagon was one hundred percent unforgivable heresy in Stefan's eyes.

...

"The decoy worked as planned." The _real_ balding turd in overpriced Armani commented, as he looked ad the distant pillar of black smoke from the backseat of his limo.

Kola hummed in response from the sit next to his boss and mentor. "What about the company we hired for the job?" He asked, lazily resting his head on a fist as he glanced through the window towards the harbour.

"If they survived, that's a testament of their skills or luck. In that case, they may be worth to hire again. If not... Well, people like them are dime a dozen. I won't be losing sleep over their demise." Sasha smirked condescendingly. He never had intention of getting on some smelly pirate boat. If he was to come to that shithole of a town, he might as well do it in style and comfort. But it was prudent to make precautions against that little shit that kept raiding his facilities. As it turned out, Sasha was right to create a false lead.

His partners from Gorgon's Head should have prepared everything by now. With their numbers, and Sasha's money to equip them, in a few months, they will dominate the Thailand. In a few years... Maybe even Asian underworld. It would be hilarious to watch this little rat that's been biting his ankles till now, get devoured by his snakes... Maybe even they get him alive and give them a chance to meet face to face? Sasha smiled at the thought. It's been a while, since he had the occasion to indulge himself. Fun times ahead, indeed...

 **...**

 **And here you have it. In case you've missed it, the old faces I mentioned in PM are both Minister and Detective Brazda. While the first one is somewhat distinctive, Brazda is someone easli missed. He was one of the cops that gossiped in cafe in Chapter 2. He wasn't even planned as someone to return. I hope I won't mess up the budding plotline of his.**

 **Also as promised, we have the first contact between OC protagonist and canon cast! That lasted whole fifteen seconds and consisted of shooting at each other blindly. I never said it will be meaningful contact XD.**

 **Yes that was a cheap shit.**

 **On the bright side, in the next chapter all the players finally get their asses in one shithole that is Roanapur, so the interaction is unavoidable. Once I actually write that chapter. I don't even know where to start. Well, there is still some time till I die of old age, so who knows? ;)**


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